Breaking Barriers (Scout x Sniper)
by TakeNoShit
Summary: A romantic TF2 RP turned fanfic, involving a Scout named Dennis and a Sniper named Mick.
1. Chapter 1

The young Scout groaned silently as he tightened the bandages around his upper arm. He was sure he had a bullet - or at least something - stuck in there. It hurt either way, and he had been bleeding quite a bit. Thankfully enough he wasn't worse off, like some of his teammates who the Medic was busy putting back together. Small wounds like the one the youngster had wasn't enough for the german to heal him up just then, so he'd have to stop the bleeding himself. There had been a short, bloody encounter with the Blu team earlier, but overall it had been a very calm day. It honestly made the young scout restless.

He decided to take a look around the base - lacking anything better to do - while the Medic worked on fixing his teammates up. Bored and with a stinging, somewhat throbbing pain shooting through his arm, the youngster retreated to his so-called room. Well, the room where he slept and had the few personal belongings he'd been allowed to bring into the base. He sat down on the bed, leaning back against the wall and lazily he began throwing his baseball against the wall opposite of him, catching it when it came bouncing back. Unfortunately for him he had to throw with the 'wrong' arm - as his other one was injured - and having the worst of luck the ball bounced off the wall to the side, out the door into the corridor. He glared at the ball, cursing whoever had shot him in the arm.  
He didn't like to admit it, but he felt quite handicapped although his wounds were rather minor.

After glaring at the ball just lying there on the floor, mockingly, Scout got up from his bed and headed out the corridor again to pick the damn thing up.

Sniper walked down the hallway, lazily rubbing the back of his neck, the days battle had gone extremely slowly for him and after several unexpected trips to the medical bay he was feeling rather run down. His previously optimistic take on the day at its start had now stretched to the point of none existence, to put it frankly, he was tired, sore and grouchy. Everything he didn't want to be for going back onto the battlefield.

Sometimes he hated living in this place, sometimes it felt more cramped than his own camper van. It was clinical, the place had an unnatural stench of wood rot mixed with the anti bacterial wash of the medical bay, but this was his home now.  
He learned long ago to accept that until this seemingly never ending war finished, the hot sands of the Australian outback would never embrace him again.

Deep in his own web of thought, the Sniper had not noticed the small ball that rolled carelessly out of one of the dorm rooms and into the hall, infact it was only when the bushman stood on said ball, falling arse over tit on his face, did he realise it's presence and immediately cursed its existence.

Scout had just walked out from his little room when he saw the sniper in the corner of his eye. With his eyes only on the ball, the youngster didn't realize how close his older teammate was. Not until said man unproffessionally tripped over the Scouts baseball, at least. After the unlucky trip and fall, Scouts mood was drastically changed from grumpy to highly entertained, as he bursted out laughing at the fallen Sniper, mocking his ability to trip on a baseball.

"Haha! Hey, nice fall numbnut!" Scout teased with a mocking grin. He picked up his ball and decided to help the older gentleman up, so he reached for Sniper his hand. Although the youngster hadn't really made any ifriends/i at the base, he did act like somewhat of a younger brother towards most of his teammates. Pointing out their faults cockily, but still minding the fact that they were in this together. He was smart enough to not make any enemies within his own team, as any of the men around him might need to save his life one day.

The only thought running through the Snipers mind was how much of a bloody idiot he must have looked. Tripping over a ball when no one was around to see it happen was all fair and well, but tripping over in the presence of one of his team mates was just embarrassing. Reluctantly he grabbed hold of the Scouts hand, hoisting himself up off of the ground.  
"Cheers, mate. Let's keep this between you n' me, ye?"

The Australian let out a heavy sigh and frowned at the youngsters not-so-discreet amusement towards his unfortunate incident, turning his attention to the bandage on the Bostonians arm. Although he didn't know nearly as much about medicine as Medic did he was pretty used to patching himself up properly when times got hard, both on the battlefield an out in the bush.  
"Well that's a bloody mess ya made of yaself...C'mon, let's patch you up..."

As Scout helped the australian up he grinned teasingly at him - almost slyly - as if he wasn't promising he wouldn't tell. Although, he probably wouldn't. He'd had his accidents too, and he hated the embarrassment of letting other people know about them. The Sniper looked his arm over, Scout noticed, and he snorted confidently when the older man commented on his - in the youngsters eyes - excellent self-bandaging.  
"Pfff, I'm fine, it doesn't even hurt-" Scout cockily tossed his baseball from his left hand to his right, but as the muscles in his upper right arm tensed as he moved his arm, a striking pain shot though it and he winced, dropping the ball yet again. He glared grumpily at the little ball while holdig his upper arm, and those almost childishly grumpy eyes were soon directed towards Sniper. He hated to look so injured and weak, and he liked to show that he could take care of himself.  
"Alright, fine...if you think you can do it better" He muttered, realizing that it perhaps was best to let Snipes take a gander, and maybe even get the bullet out.

Sniper lead the youngster back to the medical bay, Medic didn't approve of his other team members marching in if and when they saw fit, "ihow i'm supposed to vork with you Schweinehunds coming in und bothering me all the time is beyond meine understanding..." /i- The Germans voice rang through the Australians mind but were soon ignored. "The doc's a busy bloke..." he stared absently infront of him, assuming that Scout was listening, "He won't mind if I snag a few of his supplies to patch you up."

Once again, Sniper was back in the all-too-clinical med bay, the smell made his head swim with nausia. Turning his gaze towards the young Scout he lazilly patted one of the beds, signalling him to lay down, thankfully the little gremlin complied...all be it reluctantly. Shuffling around in the various cabinates and drawers Sniper found the tools he needed; anti-bacterial wash, new bandages and a pair of tweezers.

The bushman peeled away the grimey bandages Scout had previously used and observed the wound, not the worst injury he had seen, not by a long shot, but then again it wasnt good either. No injury was.  
"Alright gremlin listen up, as much as I know you love to run around and keep on the get-go, itry/i refrain from movin', yeah...?"  
He grabbed the tweezers and snapped them together a few times, making each sides of the sharp metal tap together in an all be it unnerving manner, "...because if you move while these things're in ya they'll cause more damage than that scrawny bit o' lead in there has, alright?"  
Sniper didn't hear if the youngster had retorted back to his previous statement before - quite frankly he didn't care - all he wanted to do was to get back to his bed and just sleep... Or hibernate...Or fall into a coma...Right now he'd welcome any rest he could get his hands on.

Slowly he began to clean the wound with the anti-bacterial wash, trying to avoid causing the Scout any more pain although this was easier said than done.  
"Stings like a bitch, don't it? No need to keep up the tough guy act around me, lad. These eagle eyes of mine can see right through it." He resoaked a small medical pad with the wash and continued to clean the wound, now talking to himself more than he was to the Bostonian,  
"I can't stand the bloody stuff. This wash stuff. Never registered with me how somethin' that causes more pain can help ya get better but I guess thats just me-" the bushman stopped briefly to turn the bottle of clear liquid in his hands  
"-tell you what though, I might hate the shit but it gets the bloody job done a helluva lot quicker than if ya didnt have it. If it hurts then it works. iYou'd do well to remember that, lad/i" placing the bottle and now bloodied medical pads down on the table next to him, the sharp-shooter scooped up the medical tweezers, resting his free hand on the kids shoulder.

"Remember what I said, yeah? Keep still. And it might do ya some good if ya watch what I'm doin', never know ya might need to repay me for this favour should I get a bollocking from a bullet...Not to mention maybe ya wont need my help next time you get shot..." Sniper smirked "...which knowing iyou/i, will be sooner rather than later..."

Scout once again picked up his ball as Sniper began to head back to the medical bay, and he gave it an accusing look, as if it was the ball's fault he looked like a weakling. The youngster threw the ball back into his room and shut the door loudly, to make sure the round little thing stayed in there. He then followed the australian, staying closely behind him and glancing at him from time to time, when he wasn't busy looking around at the ugly and boring walls around them that looked like they belonged in a freaking psyche ward. Everything was so plain and boring, so ugly. Then again a place like this wasn't supposed to be pretty, Scout figured.

As they entered the medical bay, Scout took little notice of anything that wasn't some sort of tool for...whatever the Medic used them for. The youngster had never liked doctors - or their tools - and their Medic was like a doctor gone bad, so it was even worse than it normally was. That was also one reason for the bostonian to prefer to take care of himself, and only ask help from the Medic when he absolutely needed it. If he could save himself from being operated on he would, but then again he rather go through the torture and live than let himself die just because he had ia bit/i of a phobia for doctors.

When the Scout was wordlessly advised to lay down on one of the uncomfortable beds, he complied, though he didn't really want to. He did eventually lie down and stared up at the plain white cieling, with a few cracks and bright lights hanging down to shed some light on the patient's wounds. The youngster quickly turned his attention to the Sniper again, who was looking for whatever he needed to take care of the youngsters wound. He seemed to find what he was looking for, but exactly what it was Scout couldn't see. He watched as the bandages came off, and bit his tongue a bit not to whimper when some of the blood had dried and got stuck in the bandages, which hurt quite badly when they were removed. He was NOT going to squirm like a little kid in front of the bushman.

The task to keep a straight face became harder as his older teammate showed off the tweezers, and that sound they made when the metal plates hit each other, got Scout's pupils to shrink. He quickly sat up, the sight of - even if it just was Snipes - a man standing over him with those tools, intending to put them in his arm, was incredibly uncomfortable, and the youngster rather sit up facing his torturer.  
"...you better know what the hell you're doing with those things."  
He said looking a bit nervous - as he was - but still trying to keep that look of self-confidence on his face.

As Sniper began to clean the wound, Scout was well on his way to break his teeth, clenching them so hard in an attempt not to whimper or groan in pain. But he'd be lying if he said it didn't hurt, and obviously the australian knew that very well too. It only irritated the youngster though, and he cursed silently as he tried hard to keep his cool. If the bushman was so damn good at seeing things, how come he had to look in a freaking scope to be able to kill his enemies. Scout's irritated thoughts were cut off when his older teammate seemed to really get into that wound to clean it properly. And then it was time for the freaking tweezers. The young Scout could've sworn his heart stopped for a second, and he briefly thought of stopping the Sniper and just get the hell out of there while he could. But no, he wasn't going to worm his way out of this, he'd show that australian that he was just as tough as him. And he'd watch the procedure too.

Finally, when he got that smirk from the bushman, Scout's cockyness got the better of him, and he threw back a 'Oh yeah?'-kind of look at the older man. "'Least I don't hide and shoot people from freakin' miles away, I'm out there bashin' their skulls in all day, everyday! I'd like to se iyou/i do that. Besides, I hit them a lot more than ANY of those knuckleheads are able to hit ime/i."  
He grinned confidently and almost seemed to forget the fact that his arm was a mess, and that the Sniper was about to probably do something rather painful with those tweezers. He was quickly reminded, though, and that grin on his face was washed away so quickly nobody could ever have guessed it had even been there.

Scout clenched his fist around the edge of the bed, keeping as still as he could with the help of Snipers hand on his shoulder, but staying quiet was impossible. Finally it hurt too badly, and his left hand grabbed ahold of the arm of the australian, almost as if he was trying to stop him. But, it was honestly mostly to give the youngster a chance to steady himself as he yelped in pain.  
"D-damn! Easy, man!" He complained, his voice sounding very strained at this point, which wasn't a surprise as he had to try really hard to keep any pained sounds back as pain rushed through his entire arm. He squeezed the australians upper arm rather tightly, doing so giving some relief, though not much.

The Australian winced slightly was the young Scouts hand clamped tighter around his upper arm. The boy was in pain, and as rough around the edges Sniper was, he didn't enjoy seeing any of his team mates like this. Especially the kid.

Truth be told the bushman was probably one of the most solitary members of RED, and although he got along well with pretty much everyone, Scout included, he never really thought of them as friends. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to call them friends! But there was something about the kid that made something deep within him call out. A call to protection.

The tweezers scrapped against the hard lead of the bullet embedded in the Bostonians arm, progress at least.  
"Steady now, lad..." the bushman glanced at his team mate and smiled reassuringly, hoping that it would comfort the boy somewhat. As gently as he could, the Sniper slid the tweezers around the bullet and pulled, trying to ignore the sickening bubble of blood beginning to flow freely from the wound.

With one last tug the bullet freed itself from its fleshy prison, much to the relief of the bushman and seemingly much to the relief of the now rather pale Scout.  
"I expect the same hospitality in return, lad. There ain't no I in Team..." the sniper grinned and winked at the youngster laying before him, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder,  
"Ya did good kid. Now rest up. Oh, n' try not to lose control of that baseball of yours eh? I'd rather not fall flat on my arse anymore. Heh.."

The yougster neary whimperrd by the sheer thought of what pain would come as Sniper told him to hold steady, and who wouldnt when you had those tweezers poking around in your arm. He let a strained, pained moan leave his mouth, it giving him some relief as he could feel the bushman grab ahold of the lead in his arm. He had to hold on to his teammate for all he was worth, and thankfully enough Snipes was able to help keep him steady when the bullet was pulled out. A sigh of great relief that it was over left the young Scouts lips, and though his injured arm was shaking slightly it really felt like the worst of the paincauser had been removed, like his wound now was empty. He could feel blood slowly beginning to follow his arm down, but Scout just refrained from looking. He didnt like to see himself bleed, it was somehow worse than seeing others injured.

For a brief moment the youngster thought about how protective the Sniper was of him, and so helpful too. Maybe he had a soft spot for 'kids', maybe he was even a dad. A married man with kids, perhaps. Then again if thar was the case, why would he even be here. It seemed everyone was there for a reason, simply because they had nothing else outside of the base. If any of them had children or wives, why would they live here and risk their lives every day? Scout felt in all honesty more at home at the base with his teammates, than he'd ever felt at home with his mom. Maybe it was because he finally felt like he had a purpose, felt like he was part of something important. Or perhaps it was because of all the potential fatherfigures he had surrounded himself with. Growing up without a dad, learning everything 'manly' he knew from other boys in his neighbourhood, the youngster was in need of guidance although he denied it. He wouldn't call Sniper a father figure for him, but he was a man the Scout looked up to, someone he wouldn't mind learning from. He also wanted to constantly show the australian that he could take care of himself, show that he was becoming better att fighting for each day.

Still in pain the young Scout grit his teeth and held back a pained sound as he finally began to let go of the older mans arm, now letting his hand only rest on the mans shoulder.  
"Oh I'll make damn sure to do this to you someday" he muttered as he finally glanced over at his own wound, and the bullet that had been removed. Whoever the asswad who'd shot him was, Scout would make sure to make him pay. As Snipes gave the scout that look and commented about his ball, the youngster actually brought himself to grin back teasingly.  
"Yeah well maybe you should use those so-called 'eagle eyes' of yours to look where you put your freaking feet." He talked back and finally realized he was still holding Snipers arm, though lightly. The bostonian looked his bleeding wound over briefly, and wondered of he should ask for help in  
wrapping bandages around himself, or if he should do it himself. He decided to show he could do things by himself, and was able to get ahold of some bandages he messily tried to wrap around his injured arm.

i"Oh I'll make damn sure to do this to you someday"/i  
The pained words of the Scout echoed in Snipers mind as he let out a small chuckle,  
"I'm sure you will, mate. I expect it. Ya owe me one way or another for this."  
The bushman continued to smirk and began clearing up the bloodied medical equipment, although not moving out of the light hold that the Bostonian still had on his arm - Perhaps the kid didn't realise he was still holding onto him - either way Sniper didn't mind, infact he welcomed it. Seldom was it that team members would touch another team member, maybe the odd manly slap on the back or high five if a days battle went well, but no long lasting contact. It was nice. Thinking back to days before recruited him and the relationships he had seemed like a dream, a distant memory. The bushman was not unfamiliar with relationships with either sex. Man, woman, didn't matter. Either way he was happy back then. He was happy now too, but at times he felt somewhat void of physical contant from another human. He frowned at the thought, but he was happy that the kid next to him had gotten shot. Not for the pain that he suffered, but more for the closeness and being able to learn just a bit more about his personality.

Thoughts of this nature were swiftly forgotten when he noticed the Scout clumsily attempting to wrap up his arm.  
"I aint done all that bloody work for ya to go piss it all up again, lad. I may as well finish the job..."  
The Sniper sighed, exasperated by the kids seemingly constant need to show he could take care of himself.  
Gently scooping up the bostonians arm, the bushman began properly wrapping the wound up, mindlessly resting his knee against the side of the bed to help prop the kids arm up while he did his handy work.  
"There, that ought'a do it. For now anyway." Making a small knot in the bandage to stop it coming undon, the bushman stood up, cracked his neck with relief and smiled warmly at the injured Scout, offering a hand to help him up off of the bed.  
"Y'alright, kid? Today's been a quiet one. I'd suggest ya get some rest. Day's almost done n' I doubt we'll be needin' ya out there anymore. Make sure ya go see the Doc when he's free, the 'Sniper Special Treatment' aint a long haul thing."

The Sniper winked, tipping his hat in a silent goodbye before heading out the door.  
"Oh, and try not to get shot next time" he continued walking, not looking back at the kid, a smirk stretched across his face.

The Scout almost pulled his arm away when Sniper insisted on helping him yet again, and he gave the older man a bit of a grumpy glare. He didn't like being treated like he couldn't do anything by himself. He knew he could. Well, at least that was what he kept telling himself. His mom had been just like this, never letting him do anything on his own, always insisting on helping him with even the easiest of tasks. For a young man like Scout who was just about to grow into an adult - although it might not seem like it, what with his flawed view on the world - that got pretty frustrating.  
"Jeez man, I CAN take care of myself, you know." He protested somewhat, but it was no use, and the youngster eventually gave in and let the australian do the job. When he was done, Scout's arm was neatly bandaged and although he was still hurting it felt a lot better than before. At least now he could move his arm without feeling like it was about to fall off. When offered a hand, he grasped the older man's and got himself upp off the bed, taking care not to use his injured arm to get up which was a bit of a hard thing to do. He was used to doing most things with his right arm, the left one was kind of just there to help sometimes, but somehow it felt like he couldn't quite control his left arm as well as the right one. So, all in all the youngster did feel a bit handicapped at this point.

"Yeah I'm fine. One tiny little bullet aint gonna take me out, why don't you do yourself a favor and stop worrying."  
Scout said as his voice had returned to it's old self, showing no signs of pain although it was obvious he was still hurt. Just to try, the youngster moved his arm slightly and found that it didn't hurt too bad as long as he moved his arm calmly and didn't put too much strain on it. Hopefully it would heal up fine - if it did there was no way he'd go see the Medic, if he could he rather stay out of that madmans way - but if it didn't he'd have no choice but to follow Snipes suggestion. Why he cared so much about whether or not the bostonian went to get some professional help for his arm was beyond Scout, though he kind of felt like he'd be acting the same way. If Sniper was hurt he wouldn't want him to just stay out of the Medic's way and try to take care of himself, so in a way he could understand the older man's concern. It seemed he'd formed a sort of bond with him, that wasn't really a friendship but it was still deeper than just a teammate. Scout would for example not give two shits whether or not any of the others got injured. Of course if any of them died he'd be worried for his own safety as it would be easier for the enemy to take the entire team out, but he wouldn't really feel bad for the person dying himself.

As the australian began to walk off, Scout briefly wondered if he should get back to his room as well and get some rest like the Sniper suggested. Well he didn't exactly feel tired, but there wasn't much to do around the base other than sleep and walk around when there wasn't a fight going on. Maybe take a shower every now and then, but it wasn't like that was 'fun' either. The only fun thing he usually passed his time by doing, - alone in his room when nobody was there - he simply couldn't now as his injured arm probably wouldn't let him without causing the youngster a lot of pain. The painful realization had the Scout curse silently. So, he probably HAD to go see the Medic at some point, otherwise he'd go completely mad, as he was in that delightful part of his life where hormones were running wild, quite uncontrollably so. If he had to choose between letting the mad german take a look at his injured arm, or simply refrain from 'entertaining' himself, the Scout would without a doubt choose to go through the torture of letting the Medic take a look at his injuries.

"Man I aint even tired..." Scout mumbled to himself when he began to realize that the only option for him was basically to go to bed already, if he didn't want to just stare up at the cieling for a couple of hours. And lord knows he wouldn't be able to stay still that long. He glanced up at Sniper who was now well on his way out of the medical bay, and the quick bostonian soon caught up with him.  
"Hey, Snipes, you're not going to bed already are you?"

The Sharpshooter sighed and fixed his eyes on the young Scout as he caught up to him.  
"Why can't you just stay still, kid?" Not meaning to sound as stern as he just did, Snipes cleared his throat and shifted the subject slightly,  
"n' no, I ain't going ta bed just yet. If I'm not needed, which is more than likely, then I intend on grabbin' a cuppa coffe n maybe a bite to eat." He shifted his gaze out to the battlefield, looking through the dusty windows as he continued walking,  
"Tomorrow's meant to be a pretty heavy day. Figures seeing as though we got it easy today. Team's gotta get all the rest they can get..." putting emphasis on 'rest' the bushman shot a mock glare at the young Scout, who now seemed alot more lively and back to his usual self. Despite this however, he worried about the kid.

Scout had always been very mindful of others personal business, or so the bushman thought anyway. The kids mind seemed to work on a 'don't-ask-don't-tell' basis, much like his own. From what Sniper had gathered, Scout was a very independant young guy, maybe too independant. He wouldn't say, but Sniper had seen Scout reading countless letters, sent by his mother on days when the base got mail - which has what, once every couple month? - from what he gathered, it seemed like the kid felt pretty tied down back home. Maybe his mum was a little too overprotective? The bushman soon brushed the thought out of his mind and came back to reality.  
"Listen, kid." Sniper sighed, knowing that what he was about to say would most likely kick up a shit storm with the youngster,  
"If the Doc is too busy to look you over n' heal you tonight then I want ya to stay outta tomorrow. Got it?"  
The bushman drew in another quick breath and continued, not giving the bostonian a chance to speak,  
"hear me out for a second, your role in this team is to run fast, hit hard and be agile. Right? How are ya gonna get intel from a base swarming with BLU if you aint been healed? Aint gonna work you holding ya little metal stick AND the intel in just one hand."  
Sniper rubbed the sides of his head, caught in his own personal frustraition,  
"I'm gonna check with the Medic later to see if he's had time to see ya. If he hasnt then you. Are. Going. To. Rest. Tomorrow."  
Briefly pointing up at his look out nest,  
"If you're out there tomorrow I'll see ya."

The older man studied the younger's face for what seemed like minutes - what was he thinking?- it was pretty hard to tell, the kid looked like he had a million emotions and thoughts running around in his mind all at once. The last thing Sniper wanted was to tell a team mate what they could and couldn't do, no one was the boss in the RED team, even if some members liked to think they were. What Snipes hoped the kid understood was that if he went out there still injured and unrested it would cause more problems for the team on the whole, hell, it could even screw up the chance of victory. Looking at the kid he almost knew what was going through his mind, imore people trying to tell me what to do, just because im the youngest on this team/i ect ect, Scout didn't seem to realise however that, should he go against the bushmans advice, go out there and get into some sort of predicament, Sniper would throw himself down into whatever dangers were there to save the kid. Wouldnt matter if he got hurt in the process.

Oblivious to the fact that the Sniper might not want the youngster to follow him around, Scout let the man's stern words go in one ear and out the other. He didn'y really care if his teammates found him to be a bother, he didn't care if he irritated them or made them want to punch all his teeth out with his cocky larger-than-life selfconfidence. He'd go against anyone who wanted to beat him up, even if he knew he'd probably loose and end up squirming and whimpering like a crushed puppy. The youngster wanted to make decisions himself, he wanted to show that he could stand up for himself and that he had control over his life, although that might be far from the truth. Sure, he'd made the decision to come and stay here, but other than that he felt as if he was constantly held down by someone or something. At this particular time it was Sniper who decided to act like an overprotective parent refusing to let his kid out after dark. Scout just snorted at what the bushman said, and though he wanted - and mind you, tried - to talk back and interrupt, Sniper never gave him a chance. The stern voice giving Scout orders did at times succeed in being intimidating, but still the youngster felt rebellious. But there was - believe it or not - that small logically thinking part of the bostonians brain that understood what his older teammate meant. He hated to think he'd be useless out there, but right now he was, and that was the sad truth.

Irritated, Scout glared at one of the pale walls while all kinds of thoughts ran through his head. Who was Sniper to tell him what to do? What right did he have? None, at all! But he was right...still though, why did he care so much? If they could do fine without Scout on the battlefield, what difference would it make to let him go out there and get himself killed? He imight/i be able to be of use in the proccess, so why not just let him?  
"The hell do you care anyway, if I end up gettin' killed they'll take in someone else to replace me. And what are those BLU bastards gonna think if I aint out there tomorrow? That all it takes is just one itty bitty freaking bullet and I'm out? Hell no!"  
A fire of rage and frustation was building up in the little body, a frustration he couldn't voice. He was thankful that Sniper seemed to care about him, God knew nobody but his mother had ever done that before, but feeling like a dog on a leash wasn't very pleasant either.

"What're you gonna do if you see me out there then, tough guy? Tell me to go back to my room? You're not my mom you know...not that she could make me stay inside either." The Scout continued, giving his teammate a rebellious glance although he knew that when it came down to it, Sniper was stronger than him, and if he wanted he probably could lock the youngster in somewhere and let him stay there until the battle was over. Boy would he hate that. Not only because he'd be unable to go anywhere, but also because he wouldn't be able to see what was going on outside. If Scout were to stay inside all damn day he at least wanted to be able to view the battle, keep an eye on his teammates and see how well they did, and make sure Sniper didn't get fooled by any Spies, that seemed to mostly be on the hunt for Snipers. Those backstabbing bastards, there was nothing more satisfying than breaking their necks with a bat swung to their heads.

The Australian stared blankly at the Scout, a growl begging to claw its way out of his throat, but rather than cause any further aggro he just sighed.  
"I'm not arguing. Kid, I can't make ya do somethin' ya don't wanna do. Y'ai'nt a dog to be trained to jump through hoops...But if you go out there tomorrow and you get in trouble I'll be coming down there to drag you back to the base. You have control over your own life. Not me."  
The conversation was begining to get to Sniper, Scouts words cutting into him, spilling out new found anger and frustration towards the stubborn teen.  
"Y'know what? Go. Get suited up for battle tomorrow. Get ya little stick n get ya fizzy drinks. Go smash heads in. Go out there all proud n cock sure of yaself!"  
Rage. Thats what it now was. Sniper knew he was right, he gave the kid some sound advise and regardless of if the bostonian meant to or not, felt like said advise had been launched high speed back in his face.

The sharpshooter balled his fist. Was the kid's outlook on life that bleak? That he doesnt care if he dies? That none of his team mates would care if he dies? That he'd just be replaced by another guy willing to take on the title of 'Scout' and he would be forgotted?  
"Bollocks..." The words hissed from Snipers mouth like venom.  
"Thats bloody bollocks...YOU'RE NOT SOME BLEEDIN' TOY THAT CAN BE REPLACED WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT."  
He lowered his eyes, unable to look at the kid.  
"We need you, Scout. Ya might not think it but hell, we do. You're a crucial member to our team. And-..."  
Snipers voice was almost inaudiable it had become so quiet,  
"...and I don't want to see you die..."

The silence that followed was agonising. It felt like it went on for hours. The bushman was tired, very tired, he had never been one to argue. To anyone. He'd never needed to before, he had always been a solitary person and even in the relationships he had been involved in before joining he never argued then. iArguments just weren't professional/i. Since he and Scout had met, Sniper had felt a certain empathy for the kid, no one that young should have ever gotten involved in shit like this, atleast thats what he thought. Even before they had started talking properly the australian had always taken special care to gun down any BLU team members who looked like they were about to cause the kid harm on the battlefield. Infact the amount of times he'd saved the kids arse was beyond him. He felt it was his duty to protect the kid. Even if he didn't need or appreciate it.

Finally the silence was broken,  
"Look, I'll see you 'round. Take it easy tonight...Ya got intel to retrieve tomorrow..."  
He felt sick saying those words. He felt like he was betraying his own moral standing, letting the Scout go, pretty much telling him to jump into tomorrows battle even though it would more than likely be hell on earth given how quiet the day had been.  
Not looking the Bostonian in the eye, the Sniper tipped his hat once again and started to walk away down the corridor.  
If the kid went out there tomorrow then fine, it was his choice and Sniper respected that.  
But he sure as hell wouldnt let any harm come his way. Not if it meant he would have to pay the price of leaving his look out nest to protect the kid with his own thick australian blood.

It was beyond the young bostonian how his older teammate could be so upset. Why did he care, why was it so damn important that the youngster was safe, and why did he get so darn pissed even though he said the Scout may do as he wished. Whatever reason he had to be pissed, it was in an odd way somehow satisfying to know it would upset the man if Scout did go out there the next day, know that the australian would make sure he didn't get vitally injured.  
"Good, that's what I'll do! I'll show 'em - and I'll show YOU - that I ican/i still fight even with my arm hurt! If I get killed I'll make sure to take one or two of those numbnuts with me, I aint useless!" He raised his voice just like the older man had, though he probably didn't sound nearly as intimidating. More like a pup trying to growl like it's grown parents could.

The vicious outburst that later came from the australian made the Scout flinch and almost move away from the older man in defense, fearing for a second that he'd smack the youngster across the face, as he was obviously not happy. But what he actually said, despite the tone in his voice, eased the anger that the Scout himself felt. He could tell himself and everyone else over and over that he mattered, that he was untouchable and the best around, but it was completely different to hear it from someone else. To be told that he wasn't worthless, that he mattered. Not only that what he did mattered, but that ihe/i himself as a person couldn't be replaced. A little light seemed to lit up in the kid's eyes as he kept them fixed on the australian, refusing to let him out of his sight now. Every facial expression seemed to tell him so much more than any words could, and when finally the Sniper said he didn't want to see Scout die, the young bostonian honestly didn't know what to say. He felt...well, good somehow. It was awkward to hear something like that from someone who in all reality just was a stranger, but it felt good. Really good, in fact.

As the awkward silence took over the moment, the young Scout looked down at the floor and tried to figure out what he was supposed to think of all this, and what he should do. He still wanted to show he could survive out there, despite being injured, but at the same time he didn't want the Sniper to have to worry about him. If he got his eyes on Scout all the time, there'd be a good chance he'd get shot himself, or backstabbed, and the youngling would just end up being a burden for not only the Sniper, but the entire team. And, he didn't want them to loose, if he caused them to do so by running around out there while injured he'd just make a fool out of himself.

As the two walked further down the corridor, Scout glanced up at the bushman before looking down again. He could see that the man was troubled, but was it really because he was worrying about the youngster and tomorrows battle?  
Before the kid had a chance to ponder further about it in the awkward precense of his teammate, the australian decided it was time to part. Conveniently enough, the Scout's room was closeby, so he stopped by the door and followed the older man with his gaze, now feeling not as angry anymore. Now he felt more...well not really confused but, he felt he had a lot to think about.  
"Yeah...I'll see you tomorrow, Snipes." The Scout said as he put his hand on the handle, but before entering his room he turned to the older man one last time.  
"Hey...thanks for...fixin' my arm and stuff."  
The youngster kept his eyes on the Sniper for a moment, before he headed into his room and closed the door behind him.

As the Scout looked up at the Sniper and thanked him for the medical assistence, the Australian couldn't help but soften his expression, cracking a small, all be it exasperated smile. He was extremely tired, drained both physically and emotionally. Despite the lack of action the day had brought it had been a bloody intense one.  
Walking to the very end of the corridor, down the stairs and into the open air of the battlegrounds, the older man inhaled deeply, savouring the humid yet fresh air that greeted him. He didn't feel like coffee anymore -or something to eat for that matter- he just wanted to lay down in the shade and watch what little sunlight was left disappear over the horizon.

Too many thoughts ran through the older mans mind, making his head spin. There was so much to think about, so many confusing feelings. All he knew for sure was that he cared about the kid, alot. Enough to risk his own neck to save the youngers. But iwhy/i? This was the main question that reoccured within his tired brain. He'd known everyone on his team pretty much an equal amount of time, gotten to know them to a certain degree -hell, even thought of some of them as his pals- but something about the Scout sent alarm bells ringing, to protect him, to watch his back, to make sure he wasn't getting too much stick from the other team members. But WHY exactly did he feel the need to do this?  
Was it because, unlike the other raving lunatics on his team, Scout was probably the most innocent? The most void of violence of this degree in his life? The others had seen their fair share of horrors before joining RED, but what about the kid?

Growling to himself and filled with incertainty, the Bushman walked back inside and went to his own room, although he prefered sleeping in his van to avoid the Soldiers early morning 'American national anthem sing-along' as the others called it, he just wanted to be closer to the team. Closer to ihim/i.  
"This is bloody ridiculous..." Sniper sighed as he flopped lazily onto the bed, "nothin's gonna happen to him. Not while im around..." shifting his sight from the cieling to his SMG laid on the table beside him - iI may have to take this with me tomorrow if I'm gonna end up fighting outside the nest/i..-

After half an hour or so of flat out nothingness, the australian kicked off his shoes and stretched out more comfortably on the bed, contemplating wether or not he should walk down to the other end of the corridor to Scouts room to check how he was doing. But instead he opted against it, trying to settle down and prepare for the battle that would rise with the next sun.

"Kid needs his space...he'll be fine tomorrow...ikeep tellin' yaself that/i..."

The scout looked around his room, almost as if he didn't quite know what to do, if he should sit or lie down or just stand there like a freaking idiot. He did the latter for a few minutes, trying to figure out what he was to make of this situation, and if he should spare Sniper the worry and stay inside the base the next day, or if he should act out his rebellious words and fight alongside the others although he was hurt. Even Scout knew that it was probably stupid to go out there in his condition, but he didn't want to just sit inside all day either. Then again he didn't want to risk Sniper getting injured because of him either. Not only would he feel bad about it, he'd be skinned alive by the rest of the team as Sniper was an important part of the team.  
"Damn arm..." The youngster cursed lowly in irritation as he finally walked over to his bed to sit down. He glared down at the floor and let the wondering thoughts keep coming. Why did he care if Sniper was killed, why did Sniper care if Scout was killed? It was more than just the fact that they'd loose a teammate, neither of the two wanted to see the other one dead. The bostonian couldn't even picture it. He couldn't picture the australian to lie there, dead. There was just no way he could picture it, or even think that it was a possibility, that maybe tomorrow would be the day the Sniper would die. Scout shook his head rather violently to get the thoughts out of his head. Nobody was going to die the next day, nobody but those BLU bastards. Especially the one who'd shot the youngster, he wanted revenge. Unfortunately for him, the bullet that had been pulled out of his arm looked like the one's the Heavy used for Sasha. He'd have no chance of going up against that giant, especially not while he was inured and barely able to even hold his shotgun properly.

"This sucks, man! I wanna fight too!" Frustration soon got the better of the scout as he voiced his thoughts. He was torn between following the Snipers advice or following his eager heart. Rubbing his hands over his face, the young man took a moment to calm himself down and try to make a decision, although it would be hard. Finally he seemed to have made up his mind. He was going to stay in the base, but keep an eye on the battlefield. Luckily for him the windows were bulletproof so even if anyone would see him up there, they wouldn't be able to shoot through the glass. If by any chance the young Scout felt he could or needed to swoop in and help his teammates, he could do so, but if they seemed to do fine without him he'd stay put no matter how badly it would itch in his legs to just get out there and run. "Hope you're happy you old fart." He mumbled to himself as the australian crossed his mind yet again. Somehow the Scout wanted both to follow his words, simply to please him, but also to go against them, so no matter what he chose he wouldn't feel completely satisfied. But, he figured it was better to stay, and hopefully the medic would have time to help Scout get his arm properly fixed up later so he'd be fit for fight when the next battle came.

Growing restless, Scout got up off the bed and pulled off his red t-shirt - doing so with a bit of difficulty - and threw it onto the nightstand beside the bed. He kicked his shoes off - letting them lie wherever they fell - and undressed until he had nothing but his underwear on, along with the bandages and the dogtags. He never took off his dogtags, ever, he felt naked without them. When finally he was undressed and his floor looked like a mess, the youngster pulled back the covers on his bed to lie down. With a sigh he reached over to the little lamp on the nightstand and switched it off. As the room became dark, he tried to close his eyes and just fall asleep. But he grew incredibly restless instead. He wasn't tired, how was he supposed to sleep? Rolling over on his back the young scout stared up at the cieling through the dark, once more cursing his injured arm for giving him such grief. He hated to let it stop him from doing his job, but soon remembered the australians rather sensitive words. iI don't want to see you die/i..  
Scout sighed softly and shook his head a bit. Why it was so important to the sniper that he was alive was beyond him, but if it would only hurt the man to see Scout dead, the youngster would do his best to stay alive. For whatever reason, he didn't want to cause him any pain.  
"Don't worry, I wont die before you do, if that's what you want." He mumbled to himself almost as an answer to the worry of his teammate, before he closed his eyes again and tried hard to relax and fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning was sheer madness.  
Warning sirens echoed throughout the halls of both RED and BLU bases, causing shock and panic to any that were still asleep and not preparing for the war ahead.  
Sniper jumped out of bed and clumsily suited up for the day, the man was a wreck, a bloody exhaugsted wreck, grey rings of the previous sleepless night hung in his eyes, he was uncoordinated, unprepared and worst of all, not focused.  
Struggling to thread his belt into the right hole, the bushman stumbled out into the corridor, almost getting knocked over by the neighbouring Engineer and Demoman rushing by. Normally Engineer would greet Sniper warmly every morning when he went for his religious cup of caffine before each battle begun, today however was not the case.  
As Sniper hurried down the hall to the ammo station he found himself slowing, almost stopping as he reached the door of the young Scout, wondering if he was in his room still, istaying inside/i, or down in the barracks waiting to run out into the open and cave some BLU scummy skulls in. He hoped not the latter.

Down in the ammo and resupply station, the bushman loaded the last of his spare shells into the pouch on his vest, being careful not to let any stray ones fall out. Easier said than done when you feel like you'd be better off in a coma.  
Today was a very uneasy day, he could tell. Looking around at what members of the team were still loading up made him on edge; Soldier sat by the door to the barracks, clipping grenades to his belt and for once in his life doing it in complete silence. This alone was enough to make anyone else on the team uneasy, Soldier was the loudest guy on the whole bloody team.  
Engineer was busy running back and forth from the barracks gates into resupply, no doubt gathering all the nuts and bolts he could get his hands on should he need to rebuild his sentry. Then Sniper turned his attention to the Heavy, a frown was etched into the Russians face as he gave his almighty mini-gun a final clean.  
"Get your head in game..."  
The all too calm sentence made the bushman blink a few times before he watched the well built man continue to talk,  
"Sniper looks tired. Get your head in game. No room for mistakes today, we are man short."  
After realising what the Heavy was talking about Sniper sighed an enormous breath of relief,  
- iso he isn't fighting today...he listened to me/i...-

As much as he was pleased that his team mate took his advise and chose to rest, the bushmans mind was still swamped with anxiety and worry, iwhat if he decides to come out after all and I don't see him? What if a filthy rogue spook gets into the base and sees him?/i He just could not concentrate, no matter how hard he tried. Slap to the face? Didn't work. Rapidly shaking his head to wake up? Didn't work. He needed to do the job he was being paid for, he needed to protect his entire team, whilst sniping enemy team mates iAND/i making sure that he couldn't see the kid if he decided to fight later on in the day.

"This is gonna be a bloody long day..."

Eventually the youngster had fallen asleep, and luckily enough he'd actually had a rather calm sleep too. So, when the sirens made themselves well heard early the next morning, the young Scout was ready to jump out of bed. He quickly stopped himself though. He wasn't supposed to, he'd decided not to. Telling himself that it was for the best, he tried to put the pillow over his head so he wouldn't have to hear the piercing sound of the sirens that set off an automatic rush of adrenalkine inside him as he knew there was a battle about to begin. Getting pumped up for a battle you were not supposed to be in was just about the worst of torture, and the youngster did everything to keep himself from cursing out loud and just running down there anyway, despite his decision to listen to the australian.

As expected, Soldier came bursting through the door to the Scouts room when he noticed the youngster wasn't up yet. After being shouted at for a rather short amount of time, Scout was able to explain that he'd be more of a burden than of any help to the team that day. Irritated, but with no time to argue, the Soldier made his way down to the resupply station, of course leaving the freaking door wide open. As Scout got up to go and close the damn door - hopefully blocking out some of the sounds out there - the Heavy passed him by, looking at him with wondering eyes thought not saying anything. Scout just showed off his bandaged arm, and made sure to make it seem more limp than it actually was. He then closed the door again as he rather not show himself off in his underwear to more teammates than necessary, and closed his eyes as he sighed in slight frustration. He was itching to get out there, he wanted to fight, wanted to do his part. But he couldn't.

As the youngster had tried but quickly realized that he wouldn't be able to stay in bed all day, although he rather just sleep the day away so the hours would pass more quickly, he got dressed and snuck out of his room. Quickly he found a good place to look down over the battleground, just when the battle was about to start. He could see all the way over to the enemy base, though it was hard, but he would be able to see incoming BLU's at least, and he also had a good view of Snipers little hidingplace. Hopefully the man would keep his head in the game now that he got his wish and didn't have to worry about a crippled Scout running around risking his life. With his hand subconciously placed on his bandages, the young bostonian watched as his teammates rushed out on the battlefield, and he tried to see if he could see Sniper anywhere. The australian was of most interest to him, for some reason, and when the Scout realized that himself he quickly got his eyes on someone else just to make sure they did good as well. Though, his concerns - the few he had - and his gaze always seemed to fall back to the australian who'd amazingly enough got him to stay inside the base, for once.

Scout. Thats all he could think about. Bloody Scout. Not the barrage of bullets and artilery firing down around him, just the kid.  
Running for his look out perch, SMG drawn, he hoped to God that the kid would stay inside, in his room, lock the door and then just sleep until the day was done. No harm could be done to him then. The Sniper knew better, unfortunately.  
Climbing as fast as he could, the australian reached the top of his look out point and immediately equiped his rifle, it was his pride and joy, had gotten him through alot of sticky situations in the past and had protected his team well.

The BLU scum were on top form today, RED team members seemed to be struggling down below as Sniper watched carefully, his tired eyes begging to be shut. iI can't/i...These two words were the mantra that the sharpshooter chose to recite quietly to himself, "I can't fall asleep, I can't take my eyes off the target, I can't lose focus." iI cant let the kid get hurt/i.  
"Damnit." The Sniper cursed his head silently, he knew that Scout wasn't on the battlefield, if he were then the spasdic little gremlin would be racing around clear as day. So iwhy/i was he still so concerned?

The BLU intel was proving extremely hard to retreive today, BLU were at their finest. RED, not so much. Sniper squeezed the trigger of his rifel, sending a red hot bullet rocketing through the air and into its target, the BLU soldier. Although much to the australians anger did the bullet hit in a non-lethal spot in the patriotic scums left side. Beads of sweat ran down Sniper's face, he never missed a target, he hadnt missed then, but he never shot a target in a non lethal area of the body. In his line of work, kills had to be quick, resourceful and clean, the fact that the enemy Soldier hadnt even barely noticed the bullet in his side made the aussie mans breath hitch in his throat. "God fucking damnit..."

It was now midday and not getting any easier, Sniper had managed to pick off the enemy Spy with a shot between the eyes, the only clean shot he had made so far in this battle. Every chance he got, the man would scan the surrounding area for the kid. Making sure he wasnt out in the open. Truth be told he wanted to be inside the base, iwith him/i. He didnt care that it was just one bullet, the kid was injured and he wanted to be there to protect him should the BLU scum advance too strongly into the base. Thats when he saw him.

Looking through his scope, his back almost completely facing the BLU base, ia foolish mistake for anyone to make, let alone a Sniper/i, he caught sight of a small figure stood at the window. Adjusting his scope lense made it become clear that it was Scout, who was also looking right at him. Or so it seemed anyway. He stared at the bostonian boy for what felt like forever, so filled with relief that he hadn't been stupid enough to come out and fight. Removing the lense from his eye, the Sniper stood up, staring at the boy in the window. A warm smile spread across his face, even if the kid couldn't see it from so far away, he was proud that Scout had listened to him. Given that the gremlin didn't listen to anyone hardly ever on the team he felt pretty bloody honoured. Suddenly, Sniper snapped back into reality and a cold dread filled him, slowly he turned, eyes wide. He'd broken cover, his hiding place was no longer hidden, and the BLU Sniper saw this, drawing his bow and releasing a powerful, heavy huntsman arrow into the sky.

Time seemed to stand still. All Sniper could do was watch it whistle towards him. In a final, last minute swipe back at the enemy aussie, he launched his Kukri blade out of his hand, hitting the BLU bastard, cleaving his skull in two.  
Then it hit him. Air from his lungs knocked clean out of him as a seering white hot feeling penetrated his shoulder. The huntsman arrow. It hadn't hit its target between the eyes, but handicapping would do just as good in a war like today.  
Sniper fell backwards onto the hard wooden floor, his shoulder oozing with warm wetness. Blood.  
He was in trouble, a war this heavy could not afford his teams only Medic to climb up to his hiding point to remove the arrow and treat him the best he could.

All he could do was lay there. And when his breath finally began to return the only words he wanted to muster were,  
"Kid..."

Watching as the battle became more gruesome by the minute was for Scout just like watching football for a sportsfreak. He got so damn wrapped up in it all that his breathing at times became harder, and sometimes he even held his breath or screamed right out at the window, as if his teammates could hear him. With his overview, he was able to see the BLU bastards move in, while his RED teammates didn't seem to notice them sneaking around and attacking from the side or behind. Several times the youngster had to grit his teeth and make an effort not to run into his room to get his weapons and just get out there. It was incredibly hard, and he ended up walking from window to window just to get some bottled-up energy out as he watched everything down there. For every BLU man that fell or even got hit, even if it wasn't vitally, he cheered with a grin on his face, and for everytime he saw one of his own getting injured he felt like punching the bulletproof glass in anger.

As the Scout's eyes seemed to always want to check in on the Sniper to see how he was doing, he soon noticed that the older man seemed to have noticed him too. He was in fact looking right at him, with his scope even...what the hell was he doing that for, he needed to keep his damn eyes on the enemy! It seemed to hit the dumb australian eventually that standing up like that wasn't really a smart idea, but it was too late. Scout noticed the BLU Sniper hadn't been as distracted as their RED one, and he got himself a bow and arrow.  
"Ah no, shit" Scout's pupils seemed to shrink and he looked absolutely terrified for a moment, his hands pressing against the glass as he watched what happened, now not paying any attention to his other teammates. His eyes were on nobody else but the Sniper, the one that had told him to stay inside that day. Everything seemed to move in slowmotion as the australian threw his kukri at the other man, who just fired an arrow. The BLU Sniper fell, good. But, so did the RED one. Not good, at all.

"Oh FUCK!" The young Scout could only watch as the arrow hit the bushman, and then the man fell. It took only a second before the young bostonian ran into his room to get his little handgun, not even bothering to get his bat or his shotgun. He then ran as quickly as he could, basically jumping down the stairs and eventually stumbling out on the battlefield in the least subtle of ways. Luckily for him though, the heavy was just a few meters in front of him, shooting wildly at oncoming BLU's, which gave the young Scout a chance to run for the lookout where the bushman was, possibly dead. He shook his head, refusing to accept that that might be the case as he began to climb up to the platform. It was incredibly painful, but the youngster was able to use the almost painful adrenaline rush he got to block out most of the pain and keep climbing, and rather quickly too. He'd gotten himself tunnel vision, nothing mattered except to get up there and see how the australian was. Scout hadn't even stopped to think why he was so upset, why he cared so much that he'd just run out there like a freaking idiot with barely any weapons at all, when the man he was trying to save might just as well be dead. He'd have to ponder about such things later, now was not the time.

After a long and painful climb up, the young Scout arrived at the top with his breath stuck in his throat, as he stumbled over to the fallen Sniper. Although the BLU's had lost their Sniper, he tried to stay crouched so nobody else would notice him.  
"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?!"  
He violently grabbed the collar of the Snipers red shirt and gave him a stare that both cursed him for getting injured, showed emotions of fear and worry about the man's health as well as stress. After giving the man a piece of his mind - hoping that those eyes weren't lying when they still looked somewhat alive - the young Scout turned his attention to the arrow. He grabbed the rather bloody thing, and glanced over the australians face in search for emotions, something indicating he was feeling something, a sign that he was alive. The youngster then tried to get the arrow out, yanking at it slightly but hoping the bushman who knew more than him about the damn thing would be able to correct him if he was doing something wrong.  
"Come on Snipes, don't give that bastard the satisfaction of killin' you!"

Sniper's eyes focused slightly on the hysterical Scout leaning over him, he was right, he iwas/i a fucking idiot...His head wasn't in the game, not only had he put himself at risk but he had put the rest of his team at risk by not looking out for them. Most important of all he put Scout in risk. The thought made him want to vomit. Thoughts and self loathing were soon thrown out the window when the enraged Bostonian grabbed the Sniper by the collar, jarring his speared shoulder, he wanted to shout, to cry out, but nothing happened. No sound. No nothing.

Staring blankly into the Scouts eyes, all he could think about was how the youngster must have felt having to run out onto the battlefield, how he must be in pain idespite his own agony/i and how fucking pissed he was.  
The bushman watched as the panicked Scout grabbed hold of the arrow embedded in his shoulder and tugged it, its jagged head digging into his surrounding muscle tissue, the tip of the arrow grating against his joint. It came of no supprise to him that he then found his voice, or more screams for a better word.

Screaming, thats all he could do right now. He'd never been struck by a huntsman arrow before, as far as he was concerned they were primitive and fowl play. His knowledge of the weapon however, outran his ability to use it. He knew that the Huntsman was one of the most powerful bows to be made for game hunting and warefare, its power almost equalled that of a standard Sniper Rifle, the tips of the arrow heads could be customised with various poisons to enhance suffering and some users of the weapon had even been known to strap small pressure activated bombs to the heads of the arrows, which thank God was not the case this time.

Sniper slammed his fist into the wooden floor, sending small splinters of wood and dust jumping around him. Finally he steadied himself enough to slurr out words.

"S-STOP. Scout...stop...thi-this aint a bullet...c-can't be pulled out as easy..."

The bushman stared at the Scout kneeling above him, he couldn't grasp what emotion the kid was feeling, all he knew was it looked a bloody lot like rage. Sniper's knuckles were now white from clenching his fists, sweat ran down his face, already he felt like he had a fever, the thought of a filthy contaminated arrow lodged in his shoulder made his stomach bubble.  
Slowly, he raised his good arm, placing it gently on the bandages of Scouts injured one, a pained frown etched into his face when he realised that the kids wound had started bleeding through the bandage, probably from the running and climbing it took to get up to his lookout.  
"You sh-shouldn't have come here for me, lad...B-but seeing as though you're here, we'd best get back to th-the base, you're not s-safe out here...c'mon, help me up...argh!"

Another wave of agony wracked Snipers shoulder, making the man automatically tighten his grip on the Scouts bandaged arm, something which he instantly regretted. The feeling of being drowned in both agony and the guilt of having the kid come up here risking his life to save him was not a good combination, yet the overwhelming pride he felt towards the kid was unfathomable. His bravery to save the aussie's own skin was something he hadn't experienced before and in brutal honesty, it just made the bushman want to hold onto him and not let go.

iHow the hell are we gonna get out of this one/i...

The Scout quickly let go of the arrow when the australian screamed in pain. Peeking over the wooden 'walls' around them, Scout made sure that nobody had located where the scream had come from. Good, nobody knew they were up there. Nobody from the wrong team, at least.  
"Keep your damn voice down" He hissed, afraid they'd be spotted. If they got any of the BLU's members after them they'd be in danger, as all Scout had to defend himself with was his little handgun, and Sniper wasn't of much use at this point.

The blood that had begun to soak the older man's shirt was worrying, and it almost made the youngster forget about his own bleeding wound. Until Sniper decided to grab his arm, that was. The bostonian had to clench his teeth hard and uttered a low, growl-like pained sound to keep himself from making a louder noise that might get them into trouble as well. He was still high on adrenaline, and didn't think much about his own wounds or how exhuausted he felt although it hadn't been a long way for him to run.

As he began to help the Sniper up in a sitting position for starters, he did make sure to let his left arm and shoulder do most of the work, although he HAD to use his right one as well. Of course the assuie decided to lecture him yet again, telling him he shouldn't have come out. Oh like hell he shouldn't have.  
"If I hadn't come out here, who would've saved your sorry ass? Besides...I owe you." Although he was still feeling all kinds of different things, such as anger fear and stress, the Scout was able to lower his voice and speak more calmly to the man, although his face was that of pure determination. He was out on the battlefield, and he HAD to survive, just like all the other times he'd been out there. There was not a chance in the entire world that he was gonna get shot or killed, and he wasn't gonna let Sniper get shot or killed either. No matter how freaking hopeless it seemed. At least that determination, that cockyness and that self-asuring trail of thought came to some use for the youngster, as he looked down towards the ground and wondered how his older teammate would be able to climb down. He'd have to do so using one hand, simply.

The bostonian helped the aussie best he could, and before letting go of him he made sure the man was able to at least hold on to the ladder somewhat.  
"Come on, man, just climb down, it aint that hard." The words that might sound rather out of place and almost insulting as Sniper was quite badly hurt, were almost hissed out with a worried tone following the wordst. Acting like it wasn't 'all that bad' was a common way for the Scout to deal with things, with problems. Even when things seemed hopeless, it took a while before he accepted himself as defeated.

The climb down was rough, probably for the both of them, but eventually they reached ground. Not unnoticed, mind you, but to the youngsters delight the bullets shot at them either got stuck in the ladder or simply flew past them, and their remaining teammates did a fairly good job in keeping the enemy back. Still with his mind set to one thing and one thing only, the young Scout got the Sniper's arm over his shoulders and placed his own arm around his back to try and hold him up. If that arrow had been poisoned, the man would probably have trouble even getting up, and much more trouble walking. That determination that still kept the adrenalien pumping in the young Scout's body was all thanks to the fact that the man was alive. He was alive, there was a chance to save him, so Scout was going to make sure he got saved.

To be focused on the goal, and look past all obstacles no matter how big and grave they were, was another flaw, or sometimes blessing, the Scout had. He refused to believe it was over for either of them, although they both were in pain and the australian had a possibly poisoned arrow sticking out of his shoulder. It still wasn't over iyet/i.

Climbing down the ladder from his look out was quite possibly the most strainuous thing Sniper could have ever done on that day, and when they both got to the bottom it took all his strength to stand, thankfully though he had the little Scout by his side. As they started to walk, the bushman couldnt help but look down at the Bostonian practically carrying him, he looked so determined, so jacked up on adrenaline. It was in this moment that the Sniper began to realise what he felt towards the youngster, he knew it was ialot/i more than just friendship.

The RED team did a good job of holding back enemy advances, probably trying harder now they were two men short. Thankfully the lookout wasn't too far away from the base and they were soon within its grounds.  
The Sniper was dripping with sweat and blood, his mind begining to cloud, feeling light headed and feverish. If it hadnt been for the young Scout smacking him upside the head every so often to keep him awake he would have fallen flat on his face.  
For once he couldnt have been more happy being in the grimey confines of the RED base. For now it meant safety.

It didn't take a fool to realise that it wasn't just the Sniper that was struggling, Scout was having an equally hard time, the almost dead weight of the older man on top of him, the heat of the adrenaline coursing through his body and the growing pain seeping through his bandages was becoming hard to cope with. And it didnt go unnoticed by Sniper.  
Using the very last of his strength, the Australian lifted himself up slightly and in turn, grasping hold of Scout tighter to help him walk along side without as much weight being put on him. Not the best idea the bushman had, as he straightened himself up he felt the arrow lodged within his shoulder joint scrape against the bone, ripping at the muscles that surrounded it.  
The older man groaned in pain, gritting his teeth as the seering hot agony washed over him, making the youngster helping him look up with concern.  
"I'm f-fine...Lets just g-get to the med bay...Alright?"  
Once again his head lolled down, unable to keep it up anymore. Taking an arrow out of any prey was always nasty business, now that he was the prey he felt sick thinking about how the actual ifuck/i they'd get the damn thing out and what it would feel like.

He just wished he could sleep, and he wished the kid could be by his side while he did.

The idea that the youngster was to use this 'day off' to rest seemed like a big fat joke at this point, as Scout was pressuring himself more than usual and gritting his teeth to be able to keep Sniper - and himself - on his feet. The older man seemed to realize it was hard for the younster, as some of the weight was lifted off his shoulders, but when the australian just groaned in pain it made it even worse. If only he'd just let Scout help him properly he wouldn't have to be in pain. But scout pressed on, although he felt as if his vision was beginning to grow blurry. He couldn't just give up now, they had almost made it. He already knew where they were going, and he barely heard the man speak to him, so focused was he on just getting the Sniper over to the medical bay so they could get the arrow and any poison out before it was too late, and stop the freaking blood that was making a neat little trail behind them as they walked. What Scout didn't realize was that his own wound was bleeding pretty badly too, soaking the bandages and dripping down from his arm to the floor. He wasn't sure himself if it was the worry for the bushman's life that made Scout so determined and oblivious to his own pain, or if it was because he felt guilty since the man had helped him the day before. The youngster had begun to believe he actually icared/i about the older man, however crazy that sounded.

"Hang in there Snipes, it aint far now..." Scout assured Sniper, and possibly himself, as they slowly but surely came closer to their goal. One thing was for sure; After this, they both needed to be mended by Medic, and if the german whined about not having time or some other bullshit, Scout was personally gonna make sure to poke his eye out with a couple of tweezers. Suddenly his own and most importantly Sniper's health seemed much more important than the others, like the australian deserved to be treated before the others even if they might be brutally injured as well. Whatever it was that set off those thoughts in the young Scout's head, he still needed to figure out. But it was something he just couldn't understand, he couldn't grasp it. It was just the way things were, he supposed.

When finally they reached the medical bay, Scout quickly located a bed for the older man to lie down on, and he helped him best he could to do so and get him comfortably placed on the bed. When finally all the weight was lifted from his shoulders, the youngster let out a rather heavy sigh of relief as he could feel his body shake slightly from the strain he'd put on it.  
"Stay awake, man. I need you to tell me how to get that thing out." He said as he sat down on the side of the bed, resting for just a moment as he kept his alert eyes on Sniper, although he seemed rather worn out. He hoped - almost prayed - that his teammate would be able to give him clear enough instructions so Scout could remove the arrow himself, and at least temporarily stop the bleeding until the medic had time to look over the bushman's wounds.

The relief that washed over the Snipers shaking legs as he laid on the bed was untrue. Infact he had probably never felt so relieved to not have to move anymore. The relief didn't last long however as he soon heard the sound of Scouts voice scolding him to stay awake, truth was he didn't want to stay awake, he wanted to sleep. He wanted to get away from the pain he was feeling. He wanted the youngster to sleep right alongside him, he didn't want to see the kid in any more pain either. He wasn't looking so good.

Slowly, the bushman drew in a breath and closed his eyes. If he wanted to get this damn thing out he would need to focus. Eventually his eyes reopened.  
"Right..."  
He looked up at Scout, making sure he was still concentraiting, it can't have been a good experience for the kid, but atleast he still had enough sense in his mind and energy in his body to listen fully to what the Sniper was about to say.  
"Remember that bottle of anti-bacterial shit we used to cl-clean your arm out f-first time? Get some."  
He watched as the bostonian got up to route around frantically in each cabinate, not caring that anything not of use was being thrown onto the floor. Snipes then continued, his breath hitching in his throat.  
"Sharp. Y'need somethin' sh-sharp. Good at..." He could barely finish the sentence, the thought of the words he was about to form made him want to be sick. "...Good at cutting through s-skin..."  
That was it, the thought of feeling his own skin cutting under a surgical blade with no other form of pain relief than the Scouts reassurence sent his body spiralling out of control with nausia, the bile in his stomach rising up in his throat causing him to shake and cough, rattling the bed he was laying on in a somewhat possessed manner.  
The shaking his body was making from the immediate urge to vomit caused the arrow in his shoulder to rattle around inside of him, causing his pupils to shrink as a new wave of agony overtook him, this thing needed to come out. iNow/i.

In a flurry of pain and sickness the australian wracked his brain, blurting out a slurr of words that somewhat resembled medical equipment. It didn't help that the older man, so focused on getting his words out, had listed every tool that would be necessary in removing the arrow within the space of about 5 seconds. Any other day and anyone would think he and the youngster were having a 'lets see who can talk the fastest' contest. Sadly not the case.  
"Bandages Tweezers something sharp antibacterial wash" this was repeated several times rather dileriously by the Sniper, who by now his own blood and sweat were starting to pool around him.  
"Clean it up, kid." The sharpshooter gritted his teeth, spitting out the words in an unintentially angry tone,  
"Ju-just bloody ido it/i"

Thankfully Sniper seemed to come to his senses - somewhat at least - and keep himself awake enough to tell the youngster what he needed to get the arrow out and get the wound all fixed up. Scout immediately got up and started to look through cabinets and drawers, not minding the fact that he was turning everything upside-down in his quick search for the tools he needed. It didn't matter, he didn't care if Medic would come after him with a bonesaw to cut a limb off him for payback, the only thing on the Scout's mind was to get that freaking arrow out of his teammate. Once he'd found a small knifelike tool - a scalpel - and the tweezers along with the bandages and the anti-bacterial, he returned to the heavily bleeding man's side.

"God damn you look like a mess." He hissed mostly to himself, and he wanted to stop the bleeding somehow but he knew he couldn't put on the bandages before the damn arrow was out.  
"Alright alright...let's just get this shit over with." He tried to calm himself so he wouldn't shake so, tried to focus on what he was doing. Using the tools he'd picked up, he kept an eye on the older man to see how he felt, as Scout began to try and get the arrow out. When he had to cut the skin, he was incredibly careful and made sure to throw a few looks at Sniper's face to make sure everything was fine - or, as 'fine' as it could be at that point. After a bit of cutting and very gentle wiggling, the arrow seemed to come loose. Scout took care not to rip any more skin or make it bleed even worse as he got the arrow out, and he threw the thing on the floor to show his disliking for it.  
"There, it's out...now hold still for a bit more, I aint done yet."

Scout put away the tools and placed a rather firm but still somehow gentle hand on the Sniper's chest, to keep him still and have him remain calm although he obviously was in a lot of pain. Cleaning the wound now that he properly could would probably hurt even worse, but it had to be done. The youngster made sure to grasp the man's arm just to make sure he was as still as possible, as Scout began cleaning out the very digusting-looking wound. He tried to be quick about it, so the older man wouldn't loose too much blood, and as the wound was cleaned he briefly dried some blood off to be able to see the wound itself better.

The youngster then began to wrap the bandages around the bushmans shoulder, taking care to do it as well as he could and without hurting the man. The worst was over now, at least, and when finally the bandages were properly wrapped on, the Scout sighed in exhaust and relief. He didn't notice the now dried-up blood on his own arm, or the fact he'd been sweating as well. He didn't think about how the rest of the team was doing, or if they were winning or losing. He didn't care or think about any of that, all he knew was that he'd successfully saved the Snipers life. That was when the thought really hit him, and he began to grin almost proudly. Looking down at the man with a continued, brief smile, Scout seemed genuinely happy about the australian being alive.  
"You get some rest now, alright? And next time, itry not to get shot/i."


	3. Chapter 3

God that whole process fucking hurt. He was thankful the bloody thing was out. Even more thankful that any poison that had been used on the arrow hadn't been as strong as it could have, if the arrow had hit him in the heart then maybe he wouldnt be laying staring at the young Scout, but it seemed the most the arrow had done had caused him intense pain and given him a fever. Could have been alot worse.

The bushman smirked weakly at the Scouts remark, vaguely remembering that he had told the kid not to get shot the first time he came to him with the bullet wound in his arm, which needed looking at.  
"Heh...try not to get shot next time..." he repeated the kids words out loud, frowning comically and shaking his head lightly.  
"Watch ya mouth...Cocky little mongrel" he lifted his good arm and patted the kids shoulder, the Snipers face turning more cold.  
"Sit down..." waiting for Scout to move, the older man moved his legs to one side, patting the bed,  
"Sit down, next to me. I want to take a look at that arm." He smirked, "and don't be a bloody sheila about it this time eh?"

It didn't matter to him that he was in agony, for now he was safe and more importantly so was the Scout. iHis Scout/i.  
Gently he peeled away the bandages that had stuck to his skin, glancing at the kid when he winced in pain.  
"Pass me the bottle of anti-bac.."  
From the look on Scouts face he knew what was going to happen, and both of them bloody hated the stuff. But reluctantly he did as he was told, this time though, Sniper had a few distraction tac-tics in mind.

He began dabbing the wound with the liquid, using his one good arm and talking to the young bostonian as he cleaned,  
"What you did out there today was bloody idiotic...And I told ya ta stay inside..." His voice was quiet, gently scolding the little mongrel.  
"But..." he smiled, winking at the Scout. "..I doubt I'd be 'ere if you hadn't come n got my arse outta there...So thanks. I guess you don't owe me anymore hm?"  
The bushman chuckled lightly, soon stopping when the movement jarred his shoulder.

"I'm..uh...Glad you're alright, kid. Dunno what I'd have done if you'd have gotten gunned down because of me..."  
Suddenly it dawned on the Sniper that it was his fault they were both back here, guilt washed over him, made his pain feel worse, made him feel sick.  
"This...This is all imy/i fault..." He kept his eyes lowered to the Scouts arm as he finished cleaning it and sighed.  
"If i hadn't have been so caught up...thinking about you...well then we wouldnt be in this mess right now...And for that, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, kid.."

For once listening without complaining or whining for whatever reason, the youngster followed the australians command and sat down next to him. He gave a little sigh when he realized the man only wanted to look at his arm again. Damn, he was obsessed with that wound. It wasn't even all that bad, why did he worry so much? But, instead of commenting about it, Scout just watched as the rather weak-looking aussie began to peel off the bandages to reveal the messy wound. It stung somewhat, but when the anti-bacterial was brought up again the young bostonian knew it would only get worse. He grumbled somewhat grumpily to himself, although he did just like the man asked of him. He somehow didn't feel like talking back to Snipes right at that moment.

The man seemed to have a fever, and he wasn't well at all. He oughta be resting, not mending Scout's small wound. He figured that if he just stayed quiet and let the older man have his wish, it'd be over quickly and he could get some rest then. That trail of thought had never passed Scout's mind ever before. He didn't usually care about things like that, about whether or not his teammates oughta be resting up instead of being up and walking about. Maybe it was the fact that Sniper seemed to care so about him, that it made Scout feel like he mattered and had something to hold on to in this hellhole. If the australian disappeared, there would be no-one to care about the youngster like this, he knew that for a fact.

Scout watched as Sniper began to clean the wound again, his face screwed up in displeasure and pain althought he still tried to look like a superman who couldn't feel pain. It was of course not the case, and if the expression on his face didn't give that away, so did the fact that he was grasping the edge of the bed rather tightly. Still he didn't stop his teammate, or even comment about how he was hurting him. He just stayed silent and took it. Soon his attention was drawn from the pain though, as Sniper began lecturing him instead.

The scout looked almost insulted for a moment, befor giving a little snort and looking away. Call the man who saved your life idiotic, yeah that was real nice, and of course the Sniper had to bitch about how he hadn't stayed inside either like he was told.  
The little 'but' caught the Scout's attention and he glanced back at the older man, only to see him smile and wink at him. It calmed the youngster down, and he subconciously cracked a little smile as well. A happy one, that showed he was thankful that he'd actually been able to save the man.

Obviously enough that little smile soon turned into a cocky smirk instead.  
"Yeeeah, instead of you saving me like I guess you thought you'd have to, iI /iwas iyour/i hero and saved iyour/i life! Hah."  
He gave the aussie a self-asured grin, before the pain from the anti-bacterial made him change his expression into pain again. But not even that expression lasted very long, as Scout could see an odd expression on the Sniper's face. He almost looked like he was ashamed of something. And then, he spoke his thoughts, and the youngster was actually surprised by what he heard. Not only was he surprised, he got irritated too. Scout decided that enough was enough, and he grasped the older mans wrist to get him to stop cleaning the wound for a moment, so the youngster would be able to speak without his voice sounding strained from the pain. He locked his eyes on the older man, and began to speak in a way that he'd probably never spoken to anyone else before. It was his turn to lecture Sniper.

"Stop talking like that, man. Don't you even remember what you said yourself? There is no iI/i in a team. If you get gunned down and I can help save you, of course I'm not just gonna leave you there! And what's this crap about it being your fault? The whole damn BLU team wants us dead, if ANY of us gets shot it aint nobody's fault! We're here to kill them or get killed in the proccess, haven't you figured that out already!?"  
It was obvious not only by his voice but by the way the youngster showed with his expression that he was upset by Sniper's logic and self-bashing. Yeah, he'd been a stupid bastard for not keeping his head in the game and he had payed the price for that, but what said that he wouldn't have gotten shot anyway? He could've been shot between the eyes by someone, even if he'd taken out that Sniper before he'd fired his arrow.

"If I get shot, it aint your fault, if you get shot it aint your fault either. And I got out there and I saved your sorry ass, and not one of those freakin' bullets fired at us hit either of us. So what the hell did I lose in going out there to save you? Nothing, I saved your damn life. What, was I supposed to stay in here and watch you die slowly, numbnut?! That's not what a teamplayer would do." Scout glared at Sniper, trying to get him to understand that whatever happened to either of them wouldn't be anybody's fault. This was what they had signed up for - risking their lives, willing to die for a cause - after all. The youngster finally stopped looking at the older man as if he was stuipid for not realizing all those things, and he began to let go of Sniper's wrist. In all honesty, had there been anybody else from the team who'd been shot out there, Scout couldn't say that he would've run out to try and help them. But there was something about Sniper, a reason he couldn't let the man die. He wasn't sure what it was, but the aussie was far too important - whether it be for Scout himself or for the team - to be left to die like that. That and, Scout wasn't sure how he'd cope if the australian did die. It was quite troubling how he felt like that, as such emotions would serve no good in war. Soldier had been sure to lecture all of them about how you shouldn't be emotionally involved, and how that only could lead to jeopardy.

The Scouts words rang out in the older mans mind. He was right, although he didn't feel like he was. At the end of the day, the reason the men were there for a purpose, to kill or be killed. If a member of the team was in trouble it was the obligation of any other members to help him out any way they could. That's how it had always been. After staring the youngster in the face for a few seconds the bushman sighed, a sad smile crossing his lips.  
"Heh, I guess your right, you are my hero today arnt ya..."  
Sniper sat up slowly, trying to hide the pain that moving caused, he wanted to pass out. Beads of sweat still clung to his face - bloody fever - the australian lowered his head, trying to hide his pain stricken face, although he doubted the kid didn't notice, it wasn't hard to see.

Trying not to make the young Bostonian worry even more than he already seemed to be the Sniper looked up, grinning weakly, hoping to mask how he was feeling. The kid had been through a lot these past couple days, hell, they both had. Briefly, Sniper raised his good arm, just wanting to embrace the boy for saving his life, but instead hesitated. What would he think if the bushman hugged him? Because that's what it would be. A hug. Not some over masculine slap on the back. Something that meant a hell of alot more.

Eventually after a long and pretty awkward silence the sharp shooter spoke up.  
"Thanks for the pep talk, kid. We ain't things to be replaced, are we? Especially not you, little hero, heh."  
He paused for a second, troubled thoughts flooding his mind and reflecting in his face.  
"...yano, gremlin...if ya left this bullshit ya could find a good lass. Make an honest man of yourself eh?..."  
He shouldn't have felt so sick saying those words. But truth was he did.

It bothered Scout gratly to see the australian in pain, a pain that was so obvious even though Sniper tried to hide it, just like the bostonian usually did when he was hurt. Maybe they weren't so different on that part, hiding the fact they were hurt. Though, Scout did it more to seem tough, whilst he had a feeling Sniper might be doing it just so he wouldn't worry the youngster. But it wasn't hard to notice he wasn't feeling well. The sweat, the blood, the poor attempt to grin, all those things showed just how the Sniper felt. The youngster even had to look away for a bit, beginning to wrap his arm in bandages again as his wound now was just about as clean as it could be.

He noticed the older man struggling to get up, and as he turned his head to look at Sniper he noticed the aussie had lifted his arm, for what though was a mystery. He didn't do anything with it, and just lowered it again as an awkward silence followed. The young scout didn't know what to make of that, he just looked down at his injured arm again and tried to focus on wrapping it properly. He felt so odd somehow, and that strange feeling seemed to come around a lot recently when he was around Sniper. The awkward silences, the way the young bostonian had a hard time to look at the man straight sometimes. It was worrying, and confusing, and Scout didn't know what to think of it. He'd never been one to believe in love or romance - growing up without a dad and with a mom who'd dated too many men for Scout to be able to count had only taught the boy that ilove/i didn't last - so the thought that perhaps what he felt might be deeper than he even imagined didn't even cross his mind. He was sure there was some other explanation, he just hadn't figured it out yet.

After sitting silent and looking down at his now properly wrapped arm, only to glance over at the bloody tools he'd used to get the arrow out of the snipers shoulder - while thinking to himself how he understand how Medic could like and even be fascinated by all that bloody, gory stuff - the silence was broken by the sharpshooter. Scout turned his attention to him again, looking at the man straight once more. The way the australian looked brought out a worrying glimpse in the youngsters eyes, and although he listened to what the man said, his mind wandered off and he told himself that he needed to make the Medic take care of Sniper as soon as the battle was over.

Faking a smile to hide his worry, Scout was about to answer the australian and tell him that he'd be replaced over the Scout's dead body. But he quickly stopped himself. What the well was he about to say? He'd sound overprotective enough saying something like that, and althoug he would've meant every word of it it just seemed odd to say something like that so a teammate. The situation only became more awkward as Sniper told him that he could find himself a girl and get a good life, instead of running around here. Oh so he was trying to get rid of him now?  
"I'm not going anywhere." Scout stated almost sternly. He looked down at the floor as he thought it over. Leaving the base, getting a girl, living a good honest life and maybe get a kid or two. He shook his head. It wasn't anything he could picture himself having.

First off he was too damn young to get settled down, secondly...despite his cockyness, he'd never had any luck with not only girls but anyone. Nobody had ever showed interest in him, and why should they. He of course had showed interest in any pretty girl he'd found, but that was only around his so-called friends back home in their neighbourhood, to make himself seem...well, cool, in lack of a better word. He'd made himself an identity that wasn't really him, and he'd sworn that he'd be that person he made himself into, because the real deal didn't seem to do him any favors at all. He'd been praised for beating up older kids back home, praised for talking to girls like they were nothing more than objects, praised for doing what the hell ever he wanted to and nobody could tell him otherwise. But here, none of that mattered, and still he didn't seem to be able to get out of his old way of living.

With a rather heavy sigh Scout glanced back at the australian, his expression serious. He didn't want to tell the man he'd never had any luck with any girl, despite in private trying to show his true emotions to the girls he'd liked rather than the one's his false identity would have. It seemed everytime he'd tried to open himself up he'd still be turned down. But none of that was Snipers business, so he wasn't going to say anything about it.  
"You kiddin' me? Pff...what good would a girl do me. Or a life outside of this place for that matter. Either way I'll work my way into my grave so what's the difference. Only in here there's no laws, I'm livin' it up in this place." He just commented, and looked rather nonchalant. Hiding again behind that I-dont-give-a-flying-fuck-personality yet again.  
"Like you're the one to talk...how come you're even here? You'd probably make a decent father...and...if you already got kids...shit you can't stay here. No kid should be without a father."  
Somehow even saying those words himself made something sting inside the youngsters chest. He felt angry and sad, but as usual the sadness got turned into anger as well. Because, men didn't cry.

"Heh. A father? Me? I ain't no father material, kid." Sniper turned his gaze to his injured shoulder, the blood starting to seep through the bandages, despite his pain he couldn't help but smile,  
"As you can see...I can barely look after myself, isn't that right, little hero?"  
Although it was a somewhat rhetorical question, it wouldn't have surprised him if the younger man agreed with him. Scout was known for not really grasping the concept of questions that weren't supposed to have answers.

"I was engaged once. If ya can believe it, sometimes I don't believe it myself it feels that long ago..."  
Sniper laid back down on the bed, a small groan of pain escaping his lips.  
"She was a beauty. God knows why she took interest in a sun-dried old bushman like me. We were in love, the real deal." He paused, studying the Scouts face, unable to tell what he might have been thinking then continued,  
"Ah but it weren't meant to be. Shit 'appens as they say. No point thinking about it. Truth be told I ain't really been bothered by it. I'm happy enough being by myself for most of the time, but occasionally ya want some company..."

Sniper closed his eyes in pain, talking so much really wasn't doing him any favours, but if it meant he could sit and have some quiet alone time with the Scout then he'd keep running his mouth until the movement made him bleed out.  
When he opened his eyes, he was met by the face of what appeared to be a very troubled Scout, sure, he'd not been perticulaly happy given the current state of affairs anyway, but something about what he had previously said made the bushman wonder. iNo kid should be without a father/i.  
The sharp shooter dare not ask the youngster about his father, it wasn't his business to know and by the looks of the kids face, if that was indeed the thought troubling him, then he wouldn't want to talk about it anyway. Sniper could see the Scouts eyes were misty with sadness, he thought for a moment that he might actually see the kid cry, but no.  
It just became another pain filled silence.

Scout felt like disagreeing with the man as Sniper said he wasn't father material. Sure, no kid should probably grow up knowing that shooting people in the head was the way to solve things, but despite that there was nothing wrong with the man. And, he'd already made it painfully obvious that he could look after others. For Gods sake, he practically acted like a worried mother towards Scout. Well, he had anyway. Making sure his wound was clean, putting on new bandages, telling him sternly not to fight with an injured arm, and scolded him for going against his word and getting out on the battlefield anyway. If that man had kids they would probably grow up knowing damn well what was acceptable and not, that rumbling voice the Sniper got when being stern would surely make any kid listen to him. But there was also something about him that brought out a bit of respect. He was probably the only one on their team that the young bostonian respected and looked up to, somewhat at least. Not that he'd ever say that out loud.

"Part of bein' a dad is about caring more about the kids than about yourself, aint it? To put the kids before yourself...and look at you, I'm not even your kid and you insist on taking care of my wounds although you've probably been freakin' poisoned." Scout pointed out and kept his eyes on the older man who thankfully moved to lie down again. Good, because he really needed to rest, it was obvious by just looking at him. He didn't seem like he'd gotten a lot of sleep the previous night either, which only showed even more how much of a hypocrite he was. Telling Scout to go to bed and get all rested even when he wasn't supposed to fight. How the Sniper's mind worked would probably always be a mystery to the youngster, as it didn't make sense to him how his health seemed so much more important to the aussie than Sniper's own health.

The youngster placed his hands slightly behind him against the bed as he leaned back a bit and listened to the little story Sniper told him. So, he had been engaged...well it wasn't a surprise really. Still, Scout felt a bit surprised, but almost happy that the older man wasn't still engaged. Keeping a serious but rather relaxed face as he listened, Scout's eyes suddenly narrowed a bit again. iWe were in love, the real deal/i. Those words rung clear in his ears, and he had to turn his head away not to show how false he felt that statement was, all while Sniper continued to talk.  
"Love is supposed to last forever, aint it? Obviously what you had wasn't love then."  
He almost sounded aggressive, sputtering out the coldhearted words. But that was truly how he felt. All the bullshit about true love, he was getting fed up with it. There was no such thing, and he would never believe it unless it was proven to him. Clearly.  
"Love is just a fancy word for two people who wanna spend their life screwing oneanother, get some kids in the proccess, and then decide that that ever-lasting ilove/i has died out. Then they split up and find someone new to 'love' and the whole damn thing starts all over again."  
iAnd the kids grow up being raised by a dussin different freaking men/i. The youngster added in his own thoughts as he grasped the edge of the bed harder to keep his own temper in control.

After a tense silence, Scout was able to take a deep breath and calm himself enough to speak with a not so riled up voice again.  
"Even if I got some girl I'd never be a good man, or a good dad, or a good anything."  
He refused to look at Sniper, and had done so for a while now. He didn't want to risk showing how hurt he felt, and how strong feelings he had about the subject at hand. As much as he wanted to just talk about something else he could feel all his emotions brewing up a storm inside him, and he simply needed to get it out, needed to finally tell someone about it, no matter how vulnerable he'd feel.  
"I don't know what or how a real man is."

Sniper's eyes widened slightly, shocked by the Scouts response to his prior statement about being in love once.  
It was all starting to come together - ino kid should be without a father, part of being a dad is caring more about the kids than about yourself, kids ending up being raised by different men/i. - Infact, it didint take a bloody genious to understand why the youngster was so anti-love as it were. Guilt wracked the bushmans body, him and his bloody big mouth, why he bothered telling the kid about his life before joining RED was beyond him, and now because of it he'd gone and made the kid feel like shit.

"Kid, ya gotta stop with this whole negative outlook on life n' yourself. Seriously, its starting to piss me off..."His voice was hoarse but still intimidating- ihe thought so anyway/i - drawing in a more calming breath the bushman continued  
"No one ever said love had to last forever. Sometimes it does, sometimes it don't. How long it lasts ain't the bloody point. Listen to me, RED Scout. Love is feeling the need to protect the person you care most about, not because you ihave/i to but because you iwant/i to. Love is about risking your own safety to protect the person you care about, even if it means you sacrifice yourself to save 'em. Love is about feeling at home with the person you care about, even when you're a million miles away from your real home!"  
At this point Sniper was begining to shake slightly, too much talking, too much moving while talking. In the end it all just added up to a whole world of pain which he was swiftly reminded of.

After a few minutes of intense concentration to stop himself passing out the Sniper spoke up again,  
"I may not love the sheila now, she may not love me, but by God we'd both be lying if we said we weren't in love at the time."  
The sharpshooters eyes were fixed dead set on Scouts face, if it were humanly possibly for him to do so the Sniper would have screwed them into the sides of the kids head he was staring that intensly. Eventually however his gaze began to lower, turning his head away to stare at the blood istill/i coming through his bandages. At the end of the day he wanst going to bash the kids opinions on the subject, but in his onw self defense he certainly wasnt going to let the kid tell him what he felt those many years back wasnt love. iArrogant little mongrel/i...

After the silence that followed, Scout told the bushman that he wouldn't make a good anything, not in his own eyes, the Sniper didn't interupt, he didn't want any more aggro or awkwardness being caused from this topic, all he felt was pity towards the kid. Did he ireally/i think that low of himself? Did he really think that he would grow up to be a nothing? Unwanted? Unloved? Useless? In the australians mind Scout was the opposite of all those things. He just wish he could make him see that, he wanted to make the kid see that he icould/i be loved like anyone else could if given the chance.  
For a brief moment the bushmans mind was lost, completely blind to the outside world, only concentraiting on the youngster in front of him, trying to read his expressions. iAnger?...Sadness?...Both?/i Then Scout spoke up, uttering words the Sniper never thought he would hear the kid say. Ever.

This was the last straw for the australian, -iwho after hearing Scout believe himself to not even know what it was to be a real man/i-, flew into an upright position and with both arms grasped hold of the youngsters face, forcing him to look into his eyes. Blood from his shoulder wound began soaking his bandage thoroughly and started to pool around where the bushman was sitting from the sudden erratic movement he had just made. At this point in time Sniper couldn't have given two flying fucks if he was bleeding like a stuck pig, he didn't give a shit if the pain in his shoulder suddenly felt like it had doubled through his actions. He just needed to say what he thought and the cockey little bastard was inot/i going to interupt him or say one word until he had finished.

"You listen to me, ya bloody spasdic little gremlin. Are you fuckin' stupid!? Ya don't know what it is to be a real man? Ya don't know ihow/i to be a real man? You're bloody doing it right now! When you look in the mirror what do you see? I'll tell you what I think byou/b see, a kid who's surrounded by people who look tough, act tough and are tough. Yet you feel you yourself aint none of these things. You see someone who, even though they won't ever bloody admit it, is lacking the life lessons he needs to actually become a man..." At this point in time his injured shoulder had begun to cause his arm and hand to shake against the Scouts face, keeping it held completely straight out infront of him for even just the few minutes that had passed while Sniper had been talking had proved to be a rather big and stupid mistake on his part, but he wasnt moving, not yet.  
"...I'm going to tell ya what I see when I look at'ya, Scout. I see someone whos strong, who's smart. I see someone who's brave, someone who, even though told otherwise, risked his own neck to save someone else who needed help. You might not have had your old man around to teach ya how to become a man, but from where I'm sitting you don't ineed/i to have him in ya life. My old man walked out when I were a nipper and look at me, think I'm bothered? Think I'm any less of a bloke for not having a father around the house? It ain't the dad that makes ya who ya are, Scout. He just lends a helping hand now n again..." The bushmans eyes grew heavy, he wanted to help the youngster out of whatever self loathing crap he had going on.

"...And FYI...Ya couldn't be anymore of a man even if ya tried. You ain't a kid, even if I call ya kid sometimes. You're a bloody man. So be proud of yourself...I know iI/i am."

Scout flinched when the australian quickly and without any type of warning sat up, and reached out his hands towards him. Out of pure reflexes the youngster tried to espace the hands that quite possibly would grab his neck or whatever the mad Sniper was out to get from him. But the rather big hands were palced on the sides of his face, forcing Scout to stare the older man right in the eyes. He looked - with all right - surprised and shocked at the bushman's sudden change of position and mood. The man looked angry, furious even. Subconciously, Scout's left hand grasped Sniper's wrist - probably to defend himself if for whatever reason the Sniper would get violent - , just as the man began to spurt out the words he needed to say.

Scout couldn't do anything but listen. The voice talking to him was strong,angry, upset and lord knew what other feelings were in there. It was explosive, to say the least, and for once the youngster was completely silenced and just sat as still as he possibly could while Sniper spoke to him. The little heart in the bostonians chest began to beat harder, overwhelmed with everything thrown at him. Never had anyone spoken to him like that, never had anyone been able to see and realize what and how he felt. Never had anybody been able to shut his yapper by simply looking at him and telling him to listen. It felt like something was breaking inside the youngster. Possibly the wall he'd built up to keep all emotions at bay. It was slowly but surely cracking, crumbling down as Sniper continued to speak to him, tell him that he didn't need a dad, that he already was a man and that he oughta be proud over himself, and...

It was like something snapped inside him, like the world suddenly stood still, even for just a moment. The youngster became deaf, paralyzed, unable to say anything. He just stared up at the older man who was bleeding and shaking but still kept his hands on the young man's cheeks.

Sniper was iproud/i over him. Scout didn't even breathe for a moment, and once his body began to co-operate again he could only draw a shaky, deep breath. To hear those words and know that everything, every last word of it, was coming from a truthful mouth, was unbelievable to the youngster. Nobody had said anything like that to him before, not even his mother. She'd fed him, clothed him, possibly loved him, but she'd never once said she was proud over him. And his dad, well, Scout hadn't seen the man, ever, so obviously that prick wasn't proud of him either.

The hand around the snipers wrist had a stone-grip going, but Scout didn't even realize it. He didn't know what do do, what to say, his mind was blank and completely blown away. But suddenly his heart that seemed to have stopped as well for what seemed like a minor eternity, began beating again, fast, and Scout's breaths had suddenly become shallow. He didn't know what he felt, but it was overwhelming, and he couldn't shove the feelings rushing through him at that moment away, no matter how hard he tried. Suddenly he just let go of the Sniper's wrist and rather violently swooped his arms around his neck, hugging him as tightly as he could manage. The pain shooting through the bostonians arm was completely ignored, he couldn't feel anything other than that big, horriffic but yet wonderful feeling in his chest that almost made him feel like his ribs were going to crack.

For someone who'd never felt appreciated by anyone for who he truly was, this was simply too much for the young Scout to handle. Somehow the australian had managed to completely break him, and get out that vulnerable, sensitive person that had been hiding behind a wall of aggression and cockyness for just about all the years Scout had been on the earth. He didn't think about the fact he was hugging Sniper, didn't realize how out of place it was. He just needed to hold on to something, someone, the person who'd made him feel like he mattered even a little bit. The young Scout buried his head against the man's shoulder and grasped at any part of the man's clothing he could find, afraid he'd be swept away by the wave of emotions if he didn't hold on tightly.

Watching the sudden flood of emotions that ran through the youngster was all Sniper really needed to see, to know that what he had said had actually gotten through his thick skull. To know that his words actually mattered to the most stubborn member of the team was nothing short of an honour. All that stored up emotion, all that sadness, the pain, the anger. It all seemed to just wash away from the Scouts face. However, although he was now aware that he had gotten through to the youngster, he did not expect the bostonian to lunge for him.

Sniper's eyes widened, surprise flooding through his body, for a split second he wasn't sure if the sudden release of emotion the Scout had felt had made him lose his mind and lash out. This thought was soon stricken from his mind.  
A hug. Thats what it was. For the first time in...God knows how many years, the old bushman was being hugged, he was recieving bodily contact other than the occasional pat on the back his team mates would give him. iIt felt so right/i.

The sharpshooter flinched as the Scouts grasp around him got tighter, his arms wrapped around his shoulders, one of which was pressing heavily against the Snipers wound. It hurt, God damn it fucking hurt. But he didn't care, at all, not one bit. He was too happy, too relieved that his little hero had finally begun breaking down the false walls that had been built over years of being someone he wasn't. At this point in time, the bushman didn't want it to end, he wished time would stand still, God forbid should a team mate walk in - not for the fact that they would see the two hugging, it was the fact that should someone idare/i interupt this moment they were sharing, he'd blow their bloody head off.-

Slowly and rather unsure of himself, Sniper lifted both his arms, embracing the youngster as he was doing to him. He never wanted to let go. Ever. More importantly he hoped that the Scout didn't want to let go either.  
Inhaling slowly, Sniper began to hum a soft tune into the Scouts ear, a tune he used to sing whenever he felt like all of his emotions were on top of him. Lillium, that was the name of the tune. After a while he began talking, breaking parts of the repeated tune to console the Scout.  
"I've got'cha mate. Don't worry, you dont need to worry about anything anymore...I've got'cha"

To anyone else they must have looked a state, the Scout was covered in his older team mates fevered sweat and laced heavily with the mans blood. It probably looked like something from a bloody horror flick. But they didn't care, it felt like they sat like that forever. Until an unavoidable groan escaped the older mans lips, smiling weakly and wiping some blood away from the Scouts face from where he had been resting his head on his shoulder.  
"You're a brave kid, good of ya to listen to me for once, but maybe you could listen to me just one more time n shift ya weight to my good shoulder if ya gonna stay there? heh..."

When the australian slowly wrapped his arms around Scout, a sudden calmness seemed to place itself over the youngster. He felt safe somehow, happy and yet as if he was on the verge of crying like a little baby. But, he wasn't sure he even COULD cry, he hadn't done so in...God knew how many years. Probably never since he was a baby. His hands kept that tight,secure grip of the older man, refusing to let go. He briefly thought about the fact that he'd never hugged a man before, never been embraced by someone he felt truly believed that he could make something of himself. The youngster just pressed himself into the australian even more, trying to make his tensed up muscles as calm as his mind suddenly felt. He didn't think about anything, didn't want to look around or hear anything other than Sniper's humming. For the moment, Scout truly felt like a kid being held by it's father, or rather it's carer. He felt like this was the safest place he could ever be in, and he didn't want to let go, he'd hold on for all he was worth even if the building began to fall apart.

His ability to think seemed to come back somewhat, though all he could think of was what Sniper had said to him. All those words that had hit him right in his soft spot, spinning around and repeating themselves in his head, over and over. And then finally the youngster let out a sound that nobody probably had ever heard him utter ever before. He sniffled. Suddenly his throat felt like it was clogging up, and although he tried to hold back it was no use. Had he opened his eyes, his vision would've been blurry, and he could feel the warm wet tears slowly making their way out of his eyes only to make the australian's clothes wet. The only thing he could breathe in was the man's scent, and though he'd never pictured himself in this position - ever, with anyone - he didn't mind. He didn't mind that all he could smell was Sniper, or that he was clinging so closely to the man that he could practically feel his heartbeats. It didn't matter that it was odd, that it probably looked as messed up as all hell, Scout felt right where he was, so he was going to stay there.

The minutes passed slowly as the youngster cried very silently. The only indication that he really was crying was probably the light shaking his body did, and the wetness he was causing on the Sniper's shoulder. And, occasionally sniffling. But other than that he was silent and unable to say anything. Eventually his teammate began to speak though, and the pained groan got the young bostonian's attention. He felt like he was frozen in place and like his limbs were like stone around the man. But he was able to detach himself, and dried his eyes with his right hand. He didn't want to show he was crying still, so he looked down although it probably didn't help much.  
"S-sorry..." The broken voice was weak as he apologized for causing Sniper any pain. Still feeling like he needed the man closeby simply to be able to steady himself, the youngster still held his shirt in a grasp with one hand, and he made sure to stay rather close still.

He felt like a complete wreck and at the same time like a weight had been lifed off his chest. He felt good and bad, both at the same time, although the good feeling seemed to take over without problem.  
"I...I'm..." Scout tried to speak, but his dry throat wouldn't let him form the words he wanted to get out. He tried to swallow and took a shaky breath to steady himself.  
"...Thanks." The word slipped out with ease, and it was obvious he meant it from the deepest part of his being. Scout looked up at the aussie, his eyes slightly red from the tears he'd shed, and he probably looked as emotionally wrecked as he felt.

He couldn't believe that the kid was crying. Infront of him no less. He'd never seen Scout cry, not even when he'd been shot half to hell in a particulaly grusome war. The thought made the Sniper shudder slightly. He never wanted to see the youngster getting hurt ever again. Never wanted to see him cry from sadness or anger. But right now, he felt oddly happy that the young team member was crying, releasing his pent up emotion. It was tears of understanding and acceptance. Tears that Sniper could accept.

Brushing a stray tear away from Scouts cheek, the bushman observed the youngster, raising his eyebrows briefly to give the heads up, his own way of silently asking the kid if he was alright. His attention was then drawn to the bostonians hand which was still clamped tightly onto the blood stained fabric of the snipers shirt. Compared to himself, the Scout had much smaller features, infact a much smaller everything. Sniper was one of the tallest members of RED, if not the tallest, Scout was one of the smallest team members -ialthough Pyro was pretty small too/i- the fact that the bushman could probably fit the Scouts entire hand in his fist if he chose to grab it was quite a thought.

Even with his puffy red eyes, runny nose and clothing covered in sweat and blood, the sniper thought he looked, to be quite frank, beautiful. His crystal blue eyes shone as the lights from the medical bay reflected off of them, his skin, iminus the flecks of blood/i, was pure as fresh snow. His scent was unlike any other he had ever smelled before, if innocence had a smell then boy, the Scout had it down to a fricken T. In the Australians eyes he was perfect.

Wether or not it was the fever, the emotions he watched the Scout release or his own sudden rush of adrenaline and instinct, the Sniper could not control his next actions and leaned forward, planting a fleeting kiss on the bostonians delicate lips.  
iOh shit/i...  
The sudden realisation of his actions seemed to hit him as soon as his lips came into contact with the youngsters, causing him to jolt away painfully. iWhat the fuck did he just do!?/i The kid had just spilled his guts out to him, releasing all the emotional barriers he had built up, he was vulnerable, why the ihell/i did he choose inow/i of all times to do what he just did.  
The Australians eyes darted from left to right, seemingly looking at everything else in the room apart from his little hero.  
He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what the kid was thinking. All he did know was that he wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear.

Scout glanced up at the older man again and noticed his raised brow. Giving a short nod, as if he'd actually heard the silent question, he tried to pull himself together. Finally his heart seemed to calm down, and his breathing as well. The tears had stopped flowing from his eyes and he began to feel like he could control himself - somewhat - again. Scout never would've thought that crying could feel so...relieving. He'd always been the one who got pissed off faster than anyone he knew as fast as he got injured. No matter how bad the injuries were, he'd be more pissed off than he'd give in to the pain. Somehow he felt weaker now, though, than when he beat someone up after getting angry. He felt he'd gotten all the bottled up emotions out, quickly. When he got angry that anger usually stayed with him for quite some time, so crying had obviously released that frustration quicker and more explosively although violence seemed to be the more 'explosive way to show emotions.

The youngster kept his eyes down for a moment as he tried to make himself look decent again, as he now realized he was covered in all kinds of things. Mostly blood, at least. As he didn't look at Sniper he didn't realize how the man was looking at him, and he wasn't ready for what soon came. Instead he was startled, so much so that he rocked back the second he realized he had the man's lips against his own. Sniper seemed to regret what he'd done as well, as he detached just as quickly and looked lost. Scout's heart had once again stopped as he now really stared up at the man. He couldn't believe what the hell had happened. He'd been kissed. By sniper. A man who quite possibly was closer to twice his age.

He didn't know what to be most shocked over, the fact that Sniper had kissed him without any type of sign that he even wanted to do so, or the fact that the australian had been the youngsters first kiss. Both were quite..overwhelming, especially so in this moment. Honestly the bostonian felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, he couldn't breathe. He didn't know what to feel or what to think, too many thoughts and too many feelings were swirling around in his head for him to be able to make anything out. He didn't know if he'd liked it, hated it, approved or disapproved of it. He wasn't able to think of anything to say although there were a thousand questions to ask. Perhaps he was just dreaming, perhaps it was the fever Sniper had that made him act, or perhaps he'd been well aware of what he'd done and truly wanted to kiss the youngster.

After just staring at the man, Scout felt a strong urge to just get away from all the confusion he suddenly felt. He needed to go away, somewhere where he could be alone to think. He needed to leave Sniper alone so the man could rest, the poison or the fever or the fact he hadn't slep well imust've/i had something to do with that kiss. There was just no way he'd just kiss Scout like that, no way in hell.

Without a word - quite unable to speak - Scout just got up off the bed and locked his eyes on the door. He didn't look angry, didn't look sad, didn't look happy. He was just confused, mindblown really. Another wave of emotions seemed to be about to take over, and he realized he needed to get himself somewhere safe, somewhere he could be alone, somewhere quiet and dark where he could disappear for a moment.

Though he felt like his legs would give way underneath him, the youngster used what skill he knew best; He ran. He ran as fast as his numb yet painfully emotionfilled body could. Without thinking, he headed straight for his room, and once there he closed the door behind him and fell down on the bed. He felt like he was about to pass out, but he didn't. It only made it worse really, he wanted to just get all this over with, wanted to be able to think properly again. Acting on impulse, he grasped his pillow and buried his face against it as he let all his emotions out once more, screaming for all he was worth until his lungs gave way and he could scream no more. Then exhausted, he kept his head buried against the pillow, hoping he'd be able to think straight soon.  
Hadn't he been so shaken, he would've worried about the Sniper, wondered how he felt and what he thought - what he'd been thinking and what he'd meant with that kiss, above all. The kiss. That's right, he'd been kissed. His first freaking kiss and he didn't know how the hell to feel about it. Scout clenched his fists around the pillow, but found that it didn't work nearly as well as holding Sniper had done in calming him down.

As much as all kinds of thoughts were still spining around in the scout's head, making it hard for him to think straight, eventually they seemed to slow down and begin to fade. It became quiet and dark. His body had finally decided to shut off, somewhat at least to give itself some time to calm itself down and cool off. The young scout was finally sleeping rather soundly. Thankfully enough, he didn't dream anything either. It was just sleep, a dark sleep with no thoughts or feeling, just silence.

He was gone. That was all there was to it. The Scout, ihis Scout/i, was gone. All because of that stupid fucking kiss. Why? Why did he do it? The kid must have been, what, 18? 19? And he was 38...-iJesus he was actually exactly btwice/b the bostonians fucking age!/i- Sniper stared blankly at the door, he wasn't sure what to think, what to feel. God only knows what he'd say to the kid if he even decided to talk to him again.

"FUCK!" the australian slammed his fist against the metal tray next to him, knocking the bloodied tools, previously used to remove the arrow in his shoulder, onto the floor. The bandages on his shoulder dripped blood, he was in so much pain, this only made the Sniper more angry. He felt worthless, pathetic, his thoughts ran wild within his head, iwhat sort of killer are you, bushman? Think you're so tough? Can't even show someone how you feel without screwing up. You're nothing. You deserve to stay alone./i

"No.."

iYou wanted to protect him. Wanted to keep him safe, and what did you do? Failed...He doesn't care about you. Why would he? Look at yourself. A dried up, scarred old ex game reserve hunter./i

"NO."

iHe'll never want to talk to you again. He wont even want to look at you anymore. You're alone./i

"bGOD DAMNIT I SAID NO!/b" screaming at his own inner thoughts, the Sniper launched himself out of bed and in a fit of rage began punching the wall of the Medical unit, slugging the hard slab of concrete with both fists as hard as he possibly could. Why did he feel like such an idiot? Strike that, he knew iexactly/i why.  
The question was, what would he do the next time he saw Scout? Truth be told he had absolutely no idea.

The kid meant so much to him, how could he explain that in words when a bloody kiss wasnt enough to give it away?  
The australian sighed heavily, feeling his legs go weak and slumped down the side of the wall, leaving a streak of blood down to where he now lay. His shoulder felt like it had torn wide open. Not that he cared, not right now he didnt.  
With no more strength left in his body and his eyes feeling like they had lead weights stuck to them, he stared at his shoes and began to drift into unconciousness.  
"No point staying awake...when I have no one to stay awake with..."  
And then. Sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

When he finally opened his eyes probably about an hour or two later, it was because he heard the well-known sound of heavy steps outside his door in the corridor. The steps of the rest of his team. They'd come back, so the battle was over. Scout couldn't care less about if they had won or not, strangely enough the only thing on his mind was to find Medic. He still wanted the german to take a good look at the sniper and make sure he'd be okay.

Scout squeezed the pillow a little tighter. Just thinking about the man made him tense, simply because he didn't know how he felt. He obviously cared for him...a lot, too. But...was it really that deep? iCould/i it be that deep, was it even possible? He'd been sure that Sniper was only interested in women if anything, he'd been engaged and everything, so why...WHY had he kissed the youngster? And why didn't Scout feel like kicking his ass for doing it?

The bostonian got himself up in a sitting position in the bed, as he dried his tired eyes and still felt like complete crap. After making sure there were no signs of him crying or anything at least, he got out of his room, still on somewhat unsteady legs.

Conveniently enough he soon spotted the Medic, and hurried after the german. He quickly explained that Sniper had been shot with an arrow earlier that day, and really needed help. The Medic seemed concerned about the arrow as he knew it could be posioned, and with the young Scout closely after he hurried to the medical bay. There, Scout froze, right outside the door. What if Sniper was still in there? He wasn't sure if he'd be able to face the man just yet, he didn't know what to say or how to act. It all felt so unreal, and so incredibly awkward. After just staring at the doors for a moment, the young Scout took a deep breath and headed inside anyway. He knew where Sniper probably would be, IF he still was in there, so all he needed to do was to keep his eyes away from there. That, of course, only made his eyes want to glance over there even more.

After telling the Medic about his arm and how he needed some mending himself, the german seemed to grumble to himself for a bit before he went into a locked cabinet that had both tools and bottles of pills and all kinds of things that Scout had never seen before. He got an ointment that he was told he should use on the wound, and it would heal up rather quickly. Not as quickly as the really strong stuff the Medic had, but they couldn't use that equipment all the time, only when it was critically necessary.

Scout applied some of the ointment to his wound, and although it felt disgusting to touch the wound, it didn't hurt. On the contrary, it felt rather...refreshing. Soon he felt as if his skin was beginning to crawl, and he noticed how the wound slowly but surely seemed to close up. He could even see the muscle and flesh rebuild itself properly. With a - for the first time in hours - happy grin he left the bottle of ointment on the desk, as he could see the Medic hurry away in the corner of his eye. He looked up, wondering if the german had found Sniper in there, or if he'd gone to look for him.

The first thing Sniper realised was that he was being woke up, rather rudely, by the Medic. The bushman didn't listen to what the German was saying, he knew that the older man was concerned for his well being, cutting away at the soaking bandages. Still nothing, the bushman couldn't speak. He didn't want to anyway. He felt like shit.

Soon enough he was back on the bed, watching the impatient Medic hurry around his quarters, placing a variety of different medicines and tools down before frowning at the mess on the floor. Blood, equipment, honestly some people had no manners! That's what the Medic thought anyway, if he had known the cause then perhaps he would have been more understanding.

After a solid half hour of shouting every curse word under the sun, yelping, shouting and even screaming, the Sniper was about as healed as he could get. A sample of the bushmans blood showed he had poison running through his veins, giving him the flu like symptoms of a fever as well as heavily increasing healing time. The arrow wound was stitched up tightly, heavy bandaging covered the australians shoulder and down to his elbow and just to keep it extra secure a sling was tied around his neck. Worst nightmare for a man who needs use of both his arms to be of any use in battle. He would be out of commission for days, maybe weeks if he didn't get enough rest.

Sniper stared down at his limp arm, hanging in the sling. After the Medic messed around prodding and poking it so much it was no surprise it hurt like a God damn bitch. Not only was he worthless to Scout he was now also worthless to his entire team on the battlefield.

In no mood to stay in the med bay any longer, the bushman reluctantly thanked his German friend and shakily walked to the door. Unaware that the little Scout was stood just outside its entrance admiring the healing qualities of the Medics ointment.

The youngster was able to catch a glimpse of the Sniper, just about where he'd left him. So he'd been there all that time, all alone and bleeding? It honestly made the youngster feel bad, but at the same time he was happy that the australian had been closeby so Medic wouldnt have had to run around the entire freaking base to find him. At least now the man was in proper care, in good hands.

Scout watched only for a bit as the german began working his magic, but when the agonized screams begun it became too much for the youngster to handle. He quickly left the medical bay, and slowly began to walk back to his room while looking his arm over. He'd been told only to use a bit of the ointment to help the wound to self-heal, but of course the little rascal had taken more than 'a bit', and it showed it worked even better that way. His wound didn't hurt as much anymore, he already felt better, and he was sure that in a few days his arm would be as good as new.

The happiness over his arm healing up fine was soon killed when he heard another scream from within the medical bay. It even caused Scout to turn around. But, he couldn't interrupt, Medic knew what he was doing...he hoped. As the young bostonian was about to walk off again, he felt something stopping him. Something inside him, telling him not to leave but to wait right there for the bushman to come out. Groaning to himself while trying to force himself to leave, Scout eventually decided to stay and wait. He'd need to meet Sniper sooner or later anyway, and it was better for them to try and work this whole mess out now, together, than for them to go on acting awkward towards each other in front of the others.

A good half hour passed before the doors to the med bay opened, and Scout could swear his heart stopped just by hearing the sound and knowing it could be ihim/i coming out. Right he was, it was indeed Sniper who came out through the doors. And boy did he not look happy, at all, and his arm was all bandaged up and in a sling. If he was unhappy because of the fact his arm had to be in that thing, or if he was unhappy because...well, because of what had happened between the two earlier, Scout didn't know. He took a deep breath and tried to be brave, as the aussie didn't seem to have noticed him.

"Hey, Sniieh-"  
Oh for christ sake, he couldn't even utter the man's 'name'. But he'd at least done himself heard, and now he just looked like a freakin fool. The otherwise so brave and calm heart inside the youngsters chest began to pound harder and faster again, and he felt incredibly awkward talking to the man. But, he also had a feeling that he WANTED to talk to him. He didn't want it to continue like this.

"...I...can we...talk...?" He was able to say, unsteady in his voice and looking just as lost as before. But they really did need to talk, and no matter how dumb the idea might be, they needed to do so in private.

After leaving the med bay, Sniper was just about ready to slam the door, semi hoping in his mind it would fly off of it's bloody hinges, but instead he did the opposite, shutting it as quietly as he could. He didn't want anyone to hear him. So lost in his own thoughts he hardly heard the Scout squeak out his name to the side of him. It sounded like his name anyway, or close enough.

The bushman turned his head slowly and looked down at the Scout stood behind him, after all that laying down he'd forgotten how small the kid was compared to him. After staring lazily at the kid for what felt like forever, the Australian sighed and turned around to face him properly.  
"If you're wanting to talk...then I'd rather we talk in private. Don't want the whole bloody base listening..." he spat the last part of his sentence out. Honestly he didn't know what the Scout wanted to say, shit for all he knew the kid may have been wanting to beat the shit out of him for what he did. The thought didn't surprise him.

Without waiting for the kids response the bushman began to walk towards his own room. He was filled with fury. So much frustration over the whole situation made him want to scream. Instead he opted for stubbornly hitting the wall with his fist. He didn't even know if the youngster was following him. As he reached the end of the corridor and in turn reached his room, the bushman turned the handle and kicked the door open, not waiting to see if the kid was following him or not.

Scout felt as if the man was giving him the cold shoulder all of a sudden, and he wondered if it was because he was upset that the youngster had run out on him. Like a little wimp he'd run, instead of dealing with what had happened like a real man should. But now when he felt at least a bit calmer, and was able to keep his emotions locked up in that high security safe inside him, Scout was ready to talk things over and hopefully figure out what all that shit had been about. He was still troubled by the fact that the kiss hadn't made him angry, as he knew for a fact that if any of his other teammates had kissed him he would've kicked their asses within seconds, no matter their size or streght. But, he didn't want to beat up Sniper, he didn't even want to talk down to him about what he'd done. He just wanted to know iwhy/i he'd done it.

It was however obvious that Sniper had had a more violent response to Scout running out on him. The youngster noticed his knuckles were red, as if he'd punched something solid. Like a wall. It only confused him more.  
If Sniper was truly upset over what had happened, if he even hurt himself in anger and frustration, the kiss couldn't have been an emotionless thing he'd done because he wanted to take advantage of the youngster. Had that been the case, he wouldn't have gotten THAT upset. No there was something more to it.

Scout silently followed the older man, keeping a good meter between them. He kept his eyes on the Sniper, fighting within himself to stay focused and stay cool, keep that almost emotionless face no matter what. But the truth of the matter was that he cared for the australian. He didn't want it to be like this, didn't want them to be so cold and awkward around each other. But right now, Scout couldn't make himself show much other emotions. He was afraid that might have had something to do with the kiss, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself that it was false, that Sniper never would use him. But he didn't know that for sure, now did he? He didn't even know the man's real name, what said he wasn't just out to use the young bostonian?

Shaking his head to get all the confusing thoughts out of his head - but they stuck like flies to a spiderweb - Scout slipped into the Sniper's room and firmly closed the door behind him. He squeezed the handle slightly, subconciously, as he could feel that piercing scent of the australian in the entire room. And he remembered how good it had felt to just be in his arms, how safe he'd felt. But he didn't feel safe now, he felt vulnerable, and he did whatever he could to build up that wall that had been protecting him all these years again. What a fool he'd been, letting it come down so easily just because of that australian.

Scout kept his eyes down for a moment as he still needed to find the strength to speak up. His voice was a bit weak still, after all the screaming, but when he finally glanced up at Sniper - his eyes as serious as ever - he parted his lips and said the only thing he could think of.  
"Why?"  
The word sounded weak, and the more Scout thought about it, the more he wanted an answer to it. He ineeded/i an answer.  
"WHY!?"  
He spat out, now almost glaring at the older man with eyes that were both upset and yet confused, scared over what answer he'd get.

The youngsters loud outburst made the bushmans eyes widen. He wasn't sure what to do, what to say. He couldn't be sure if the Scout was angry or sad or confused or ianything/i for that matter. The australian turned his head and faced the wall, his fist clamped into a tight ball. iWhat the fuck was he meant to say!?/i

Eventually his eyes met the Scouts, undescribable emotions written all over it. He inhaled deeply and sighed.  
"Why?" The bushman began, deathly serious eyes boring into the Scouts.  
"Why did I...kiss you?..." He could barely contain his need to vomit from the sheer stress the whole situation had put him in.  
"Because I iwanted/i to. Because...Because I ineeded/i to."  
It was now or never.  
"Because I...I need iyou/i"

Immediately the Sniper turned around, he couldn't look at the kid. Not after what he had just said. His knuckles turned white, tightening his both fists as hard as he could.  
"...But you ran...That's all I needed to know..."  
In one swift movement the australian booted a little metal bin that laid next to him as hard as he could, sending it flying across his room and into the wall on the other side of the dormatory.  
Sniper wasn't angry that Scout had run out on him, -ialthough at this point thats probably what the kid was thinking/i- He was angry, furious even, that he had, in his mind, screwed up the best thing he had ever been given here since joining RED.  
He had always enjoyed a good laugh with Scout, enjoyed the smart arse banter the kid always seemed to provide.  
But right now he felt like he'd never get that friendship, that closeness they both had back to normal. Not after this.

Who was he fooling? The gremlin didn't even know his fucking iname/i, and the sharpshooter didn't know the kids name either. Since they first met, it was "Sniper this, Scout that." That wasn't their names, that was their ititles/i their iroles/i.  
They pretty much knew nothing about each other. Scout was from Boston, father issues, emotional problems. Thats as far as the list went in the Snipers mind. And what did the kid know about him? A dusty, sun-dried old bushman from the Australian outback. That was it.

The sharpshooter sat on the edge of his bed, his head firmly planted in both his hands. He didn't care. Didn't care that the weight of his head resting in the hand attached to his knackered shoulder felt like it was spitting venamous pain at him for moving it. Didn't care that he'd now have to stare at a big dirty crack in the plaster on the wall from kicking his bin across the room. Didn't care if the kid smashed his damn skull in after what he just told him.

He just sat there. There was nothing more he could say. Nothing more he could do. iNothing/i.

The second their eyes met the Scout felt like looking away. He felt like now when he'd already opened himself up to Sniper so much, those eyes of the bushman could see straight through him, read every emotion and every thought perfectly. Although that might not be the case, that's how it felt. And it was a horrible feeling when you didn't know if the person looking straight through you could be trusted or not.

Sniper finally opened his mouth, and Scout held his breath as he was finally about to get his answer. What he heard made his eyes change from that forced steel-gaze to a surprised and doubting look. Repeatedly the youngster told himself that no, it couldn't be, there was no way in hell. But it was obvious that Sniper wasn't lying. He'd wanted to kiss the youngster, needed to, and he...needed him, too. Whatever that meant.

Silently Scout watched the frustrated Sniper kick the bin, turn his back to him again as if he was ashamed. Was he? The young bostonian had never seen Sniper turn his back to anyone out of shame before, he seemed like the kind of man who always kept his eyes on you and made you shake in fear before he showed himself to be vulnerable. He seemed like a strong person. No, he iwas/i a strong person, and a good man. He was the most decent one, the most understanding and yet strong man on the entire team. At least, out of Scout's point of view. And not even this incident could change those thoughts.

The youngster did look down for a moment as a silence followed while Sniper got himself seated on the bed. Neither of them said anything, or even looked at each other. Still trying to grasp what had been said, Scout began to form his own explanation in his head. He seemed to need to believe the worst possible, almost afraid to believe that Sniper actually truly liked him. Perhaps it was because he was still doubting himself, or doubting whatever the australian had told him. For all Scout knew, he could've said all that just to get on the youngsters good side. So, instead of reading the signs the way he wanted to, he accused the man of simply using him.

"So...you've just been usin' me all this time? Acting nice and friendly just to get with me?!" Scout looked up again, staring at the older man who had buried his face in his hands. For a second the youngster felt like walking up to him and make him stop, as it must hurt his arm incredibly to sit like that. But he was only able to go a few steps, with that accusing look in his eyes just growing. He was, basically, in defense-mode at this point. He wasn't going to fool himself into believing that Sniper truly cared for him, because if he did he might just end up left behind, thrown to the side once the older man had gotten what he wanted.

"Is that what you're after, huh? Some easy entertainment?"  
He walked closer to the bed, closer to the man who looked broken down but yet Scout couldn't stop talking. He wanted to be told he was wrong, wanted to believe Sniper cared for him as much as he'd seemed. But it was hard, incredibly hard.  
"Feedin' me all that bullshit...telling me I'm a man, that you're proud over me...you put up a good show old-timer, I believed you."  
He could feel his heart racing. Whether it be out of frustration or fear for what response he would get, he didn't know.  
"...but I don't know what I'm supposed to believe."

Hearing the Scouts words made the bushman smile. Infact, he ilaughed/i. He must have looked like a madman, shaking from pain, sweat running down his face from his fever, head in hands all out laughing. Make no mistake it wasn't because he found the situation amusing. Or even funny for that matter. But laughing was literally all he could do, he actually couldn't believe what the Scout had just said to him. iUsed him? Acting friendly just to get with him?...Easy entertainment!?/i

"So thats what ya think is it?...heh..."

In a flash the bushman leaped up from his bed and stormed towards the Scout, no trace of mock humour previously plastered on his face, and slammed the kid against the door to the room. Pure uncensored rage. Absolute fury. At this moment, Sniper honestly wanted to floor the brat, but refrained from doing so, keeping both arms outstretched in front of him, unaware that his now shredded sling lay in a crumpled heap on the floor and pinned the bostonian to the splintered wood of the doorframe. The bushman felt like he was about to explode with anger, time for talking quietly had passed. Right now he didn't know the word 'quiet' even existed.

"bYOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SHIT. DON'T YA DARE ACCUSE ME OF PLAYIN' YA, OF USIN' YA./b"  
The sniper rapidly shook his injured arm, making sure the other still kept the kid in place,  
"bYA THINK, HONESTLY, THAT I'D WIND UP WITH A POISONED FUCKING ARROW IN MY SHOULDER BECAUSE I WAS TOO BUSY LOOKING AT YOU HOPIN' YOU WERE OK...BECAUSE I WANTED TO iUSE/i YOU!?/b"  
He spat out the last part of his sentence as if it were poison. How could the kid even think that!? The repeating words the Scout previously spoke swam in the Snipers head. His heart felt like it had been crushed, he was upset, there was no denying that. Hell, he was devastated. But the emotion that overpowered him the most was his frustration, his anger. His irage/i.

The youngster frowned when he noticed the bushman laughed at him, and seemed to take it with such ease. Like he'd been caught and just laughed it off. iFucking bastar/i-  
Scout was unable to finish his thoughts, as the man suddenly jumped up from the bed and came straight for him, nothing in his eyes or face showing anything nice, so quite obviously it made the youngster flinch and take a step back. He didn't want to fight the man, not only because Sniper was already injured and really just needed to rest, but because he was sure the australian could skin him alive if he wanted to.

Quite violently Scout was shoved against the door, so hard in fact it made him utter a pained sound and he could've sworn the sound when he hit the door had been heard outside the room as well. In an attempt to protect himself he quickly grabbed the snipers arms best he could in his position, trying to get him to let go. But it was of no use, even the bushman's injured arm seemed to be of solid rock, unmovable. With his heart in his throat Scout stared up at the sweating man who looked completely mad with rage, the kind of look that made one believe he could murder children without thinking twice about it.

The loud, roaring voice made Scout's eardrums hurt, and although he didn't want to he simply ihad/i to look the man in the eyes, and he tried best to not let any emotions slip through. But it proved to be hard. For there was nothing in the older man's expression, nothing in his actions and his bodylanguage that showed he was lying. He was upset, truly upset, steaming with anger and frustration. It was no doubt about it, no doubt that he was being truthful.

So, Sniper wasn't out to use Scout. He'd been looking after him, risking his own skin because he wanted and needed him...and if that want and need wasn't a physical one there really wasn't much of an option left. Scout must truly mean a lot to him.

But, that all still sounded so incredibly silly in the youngsters head. His eyes failed at remaining emotionless, and he looked quite overwhelmed again. Almost sad, even. Unable to keep his eyes on Sniper any longer, Scout looked down at the floor. He could feel the man's burning bodyheat, could feel how he was sweating and how his body was boiling, with rage as well as because of the fever, which he had because of the arrow, which he'd gotten hit with because he'd been worried. Worried about Scout. With those thoughts came guilt, and finally it seemed to sink in - he finally dared to believe - that whatever emotions Sniper had for the bostonian, they were true and honest.

"I...believe you." The voice was weak, compared to Sniper's which was still ringing in the youngster's ears. He took a deep, shaky breath as he looked the australian in the eyes again, squeezing his hands tightly around the man's shirt.  
"...tell me...just tell me, why is it that you look after me, why do you even icare/i about me, why do you ineed/i me? Why am I so freakin' different from the others?"  
Truth of the matter was that, no matter how badly he wanted to believe it, Scout couldn't truly asure himself that Sniper's feelings were that deep, unless he got to hear it from the man himself, and was able to see in those eyes that he was truthful. He wanted Sniper to tell him, even if he smacked him across the face in the process for not realizing it. But it this man truly felt something more for the youngster, Scout just wanted him to spit it out, and his frustrated gaze held that almost desperate look, that pleaded with the bushman to tell him the whole truth.

The bushman began panting, he was out of breath. Infact, out of breath didn't quite cut it. He was exhaughsted. His eyes widened as soon as the Scout said that he believed him, although he wasn't sure if he was lying to save himself getting crushed into the door.

Slowly enough, Sniper started coming back down to Earth. His senses started coming back, he could hear distant sounds of his team mates walking around the base, he could smell the natural scent of his room again, and he could feel the burning agony his shoulder was in. The bushman could feel his face redden, he was too warm. He felt like he was on fire, seeing his sling crumpled on the floor, Sniper slowly released the kid from his iron grip and dropped to his knees, a whirlwind of pain, relief and emotion.

He believed him. He still wanted to know iwhy/i the bushman cared about him so much, but the kid believed him.  
Sniper stared at the floor, his body trembling,  
"Why?...Isn't it obvious, kid?..." His voice was quiet, pained, and he was smiling again. Only this time, it was genuine, no maniacle laughing, no fake emotional mask, it was time he told the Scout everything. Although he still remained slumped on the floor, he didn't have the strength to stand, or even move right now.

"The first day I met ya, well, kid I was shocked. I didn't know what to think, seein' someone so young in a shit hole like this. I was reluctant to get attached to ya like I did with the blokes here, to be honest I didn't think ya'd last."  
The sniper laughed lightly,  
"Hah, but..but I couldn't have been more wrong, could I kid? When I saw ya fightin' out there for the first time it struck a chord inside me. Such a brave bloke. Even if you were...iare/i so young...I became attached to ya, the more time I spent with ya I wanted to know more about ya. But...Well yano how things are..."  
The bushman inhaled sharply, preparing himself to say what he had wanted to for a long time.  
"Truth is, kid. I love ya. Its true. Ya can think im bullshittin' all ya like, but I do. You're the strongest, bravest bloke I know. I'm honoured to know ya...even if I don't even know ya real bloody name. Hah..."

Silence followed, for how long Sniper wasnt sure of. But it was out in the open. And the relief he felt was incredible. It truely was.

Scout felt the strong grip Sniper had on him weaken, and he thought the man was going to step back. But instead the asutralian just fell to his knees, obviously exhausted and warm from the fever and how upset he'd gotten. Scout held a tight grip of his shirt, just to make sure the man didn't fall completely to the floor and passed out or something. And with a slightly worried face he sat down opposite of the man, and held him still just to be sure he was steady. He began to regret going to talk to Sniper at this time, he should've waited until the bloody fever had gone down. He opened his mouth, about to suggest to get the man back to his bed where he could lie down, but then Sniper began to talk again.

The man's voice was calmer now, more soothing and kind as the australian told the young bostonian how he felt, and how he'd been feeling from the first time they met. To be brutally honest, Scout hadn't been too attatched to Sniper in the beginning, but once he noticed the man seemed to take somewhat of a liking to him he answered in kind. And then that had just been the way their relationship had been. Scout had never called Sniper a friend, but he'd always known his conversations and the way he interacted with the man was different from with all the others.

As the australian uttered his last sentence, finally saying those words Scout had wanted - prayed for - to hear from the man, a light of hope and happiness seemed to light up like twinkling stars in the youngsters eyes. He was iloved/i. Truly and honestly iloved/i. Without realizing it, the Scout squeezed Snipers arms slightly as he felt his emotions were about to get the better of him again. He didn't know what to say. Thank you? It wasn't nearly enough. But, although it felt so good to hear those words, hear that sentence, the young bostonian was still doubtful about love. He didn't believe himself to have ever been in love, so he didn't know if what he felt was, well, love. Or if it possibly was something else. He couldn't voice his emotions, and just wrapped his arms around the uncomfortably warm man in a hug. A more gentle hug, this time, as he was minding the man's shoulder. He was at a loss of words, and he honestly felt bad about it. He who always used to talk too much, now had nothing he could say, nothing at all. It was apretty big thing, to be able to shut up a kid like Scout that way.

The young bostonian still felt he needed to explain himself, or at least try to. Sniper deserved nothing less now that he'd opened himself up to the Scout.  
"I didn't mean to upset you, man, when I ran out like that...I just...well, fuck it, I've n-never kissed nobody before, and I was a...damn wreck...I didn't know what to think."  
The youngster spoke with his head still buried against the older man, who felt so safe and warm, so comforting and right to have in his arms. It was like Scout never wanted to let go, and that feeling alone was completely new to him. After a moment, he did move away a bit though, but simply because he felt bad about keeping a injured man out of bed like that.

"Come on, let's get you up..." He mumbled as he helped pull the man up on his feet, and basically carried him over to his bed so he could lie down. During it all, the youngster had a small but definite smile on his face, something he'd never had before. It was a genuinely happy, warm smile, the kind that made his entire face almost shine with positivity. He made sure Sniper got comfortable on the bed, and looked down on the sweating man with slight worry, but mostly that overwhelmed and happy glimpse in his eyes. He felt like crying again, but he didn't want to take more of the Snipers time. He needed to rest.  
"You need to rest...and...by the way...my name's Dennis...but seriously, I prefer you just calling me Scout. Sounds better." He gave the man a bit of a grin, and looked him over, still feelin quite tonguetied. He wanted to tell Sniper he loved him too, wanted to make him as happy as he'd made the youngster. But he didn't want to risk lying about such a thing, and if keeping quiet would save the older man from heartbreak he'd rather have it that way. Although, even if he didn't say it, perhaps it would simply show how he felt for the australian.

"Dennis. So thats you're name is it, little hero? Dennis...the menace, heh. The name suits ya kid."  
The Sniper grinned weakly as he looked up at the Scouts face. The kid looked worried, but ont as much as he looked utterly relieved. Everything he wanted the Sniper to explain the bushman had done so. He looked like the weight of the world had been lifted off of his shoulders. It was so good seeing the lad genuinely happy.  
Sniper relayed the previous sentences about how Scout had never been kissed, how he didn't know what to feel. That was fine by him, now that the bushman knew why the little motor mouth had ran away it was perfectly understandable.  
Still, there were little thoughts scratching at the back of his mind, he'd told the kid how much he meant to him. But he hand't gotten much of a response back about how the kid felt towards him, ithat said, the bushman knew it wasnt negative feelings, otherwise he wouldnt be sat looking up at him./i

"If you'll pardon my manners for a sec, kiddo..."  
Swiftly, Sniper slid off his vest and shirt, he didn't want to freak the bostonian out any more than all this business had done already, but sitting in bed in full battle gear with a fever really wasn't the way to go, if he didn't cool down he'd drown in his own sweat. iNot a pleasant thought./i  
The bushman slowly settled back down into his pillow and growled lightly at the bandages smothering his shoulder, not only did his wound hurt like a bitch, it fucking itched to hell, the Medic's islightly too tight/i stitch work nipped at his skin.  
The australian wriggled for a second, freeing his good arm from the tangled bed sheets to near on maul his injury, speaking as he did so,  
"So then. Denni-...Scout, I suppose you'll be wanting to know what my name is seeing as though you told me yours, hm?.."  
He flashed a slightly irritated smile to the kid and sighed,  
"Yano, I've been here for so long now sometimes I forget what I'm called. Heh, how about that? Had my name for 38 years, you'd think a guy would be able to remember it..."  
He grinned at the bostonian.  
"After being called 'Sniper' for so long sometimes I reckon thats the name my old mam blessed me with!...But uh...Heh...Well you can call me Mick."

It felt weird to say his own name, hell, he hadn't even ithought/i about his own name and identity for...God only knows how long. But he was glad to remember. Mick. That was him, not Sniper, not bushman. Just Mick. Or as his mum used to call him, iMickey mouse/i. He hated that bloody nickname. In his mind, Micky and Mick were two completely seperate names that should stay as far away from each other as possible. And as for the 'Mouse' part. Well, lets just say of all the creatures in the animal kingdom, he did not relate himself to that perticular one...

"So yeah. Mick. Thats me..."  
He winked and tried to take on the youngsters style of speech, hoping to crack a smile out of the kid as he repeated what the bostonian had just said to him,  
"...but seriously, you can call me whatever you want. Sniper, Mick. Whatever."

The youngster sat down on the side of the bed, as he didn't quite want to leave yet. He knew he oughta be leaving the poor man alone, let him sleep or at least rest without focusing on anything but his own thoughts. But, Sout felt drawn to stay, at least for a bit more. There was something he felt he needed - or wanted - to get out. Something, a word or a sentence, resting on his tongue that was just waiting to be spoken. Problem was, he didn't know what it was he wanted or needed to say. He wanted to talk, wanted to express himself, but it was awfully hard when he was unable to properly pinpoint what he felt.

Fortunately enough the fever seemed to get too intense for Sniper to bare, and he began to undress. This sent a jolt of feelings thought that little spastic body of the youngster, but to the outside world he was completely still although he'd truly felt like a shock had went through him. There was definitely something about the man that he was...drawn to. Scout could for one example not remember when he'd ever stared so at an undressing-and-covered-in-sweat-man before. As soon as he felt the australians eyes on him though, he made sure to meet his gaze and leave no indication to how he'd been staring just the moment before.

Dennis - or Scout, as he preferred - listened closely to the australian's words as he seemed to be about to reveal his name as well. It was somehow pretty damn exciting. The young Scout had even made up names for most of his teammembers, just from what they ilooked/i like they were named. He couldn't help but grin and even chuckle lightly when he found out the man's name. It was to be honest nowhere near what he'd thought the man's name was. Then again, he'd pretty much given Sniper a name that sounded cool and badass, and not taken into consideration that when Sniper was named he'd been just a baby.  
"Nice to meet you, Mick." He said with a grin, but as silence followed the youngsters eyes began to wander again. Damn was it distracting that the aussie was lying there half-naked. Not only was it - though only slightly - awkward, it was very very distracting, for whatever reason. Scout turned his gaze to the rest of the room, looking around for a bit before his eyes suddenly lowered again. He felt he owed the Sniper something. Those words the'd been trying to find and say, perhaps.

Sliding his earpiece down so it was around his neck, making Scout able to take off his hat, he scratched his head slowly and amost restlessly as he tried to find the right words. Still with his back against the sweaty, shirtless australian, the young bostonian broke the silence.  
"I just want you do know that...you know...I...I care a lot about you and, uh...I think you're just about the...only...I guess I'd call you ifriend/i, but...the only one who'd ever...cared about me, you know? Ever...and I'd...gladly take a bullet for you if I needed to, I don't care if it hit me in the heart."  
The somewhat rambling words seemed to stumble out of the youngsters mouth as he fingered on his hat while talking. Scout then turned slightly so he could look at the Sniper once more before turning back and placing his hat on the little table by the bed.

As silence son took over again, the young bostonian bit his lip, wondering just where the hell this would lead. How would they act around each other, would Sniper when he was feeling better again, try to make moves on the youngster? And if he did...would Scout even mind?  
Suddenly he stood up.  
"Listen, Snipes...you're useless as long as you're hurt...so, get some rest, you hear, slugger?"  
Scout glanced down at Sniper and gave him a bit of a smile, before he headed for the door to leave the man alone for a while. He retreated to his own room, where he sat down on the bed and sighed deeply. He just couldn't believe it, still. Sniper loved him. Dennis was loved and cared for, he mattered and he had a purpose. It was so overwhelmingly wonderful he didn't know what to do. And on top of that his arm felt wonderful. Still stung a bit, but no big deal, he could use it pretty fine. Maybe it was because he was so happy that he didn't feel any pain, but it didn't matter.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5 CANNOT BE POSTED ON , PLEASE READ THE CHAPTER HERE; /d6zb3e4


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6 CANNOT BE POSTED ON , PLEASE READ THE CHAPTER HERE; /d6zb9o5


	7. Chapter 7

As Mick had left - since a long time, Dennis hadn't moved a muscle for probably a good hour - the young Scout had refused to look at him or tell him goodnight. He'd said nothing, done nothing, and he was still lying completely still. The only movement he made was breathing. And, the breaths he took were deep though uneven, as all the feelings and all the tension and frustration inside him was building up another tantrum that needed to get out. Somehow the rumbling of the thunderstorm that had appeared over the base during the past hour seemed to calm the young bostonian down. A bit, at least. And yet the sound of hard rain and the bolts of lightnight flashing over the sky that seemed so fitting in that moment - mirroring his despair and anger perfectly - Dennis couldn't sleep by the loud storm. He was probably too pumped up and angry anyway to sleep, but the storm was just irritating him with it's loud noisyness and flashing bolts of light. He couldn't sleep, there was no use, no matter how damn tired he felt. And he was, honestly, exhausted. It had been a long and exhausting day, and it was really beginning to take it's toll on the kid.

Finally Dennis slowly began to move his arms, pulling the covers down slightly so he could at least peek out and look out through the window at the storm ourside. It was dark, not only because it was night but because the thick, dark clouds were covering the sky. Such an uneasy, uncomfortable night. A perfect end to an uneasy, uncomfortable day, Dennis would say.

As he'd done for the past hour and a half, Dennis repeated not only what had been said but what had happened between him and Mick that day, and that night. So much good and so much bad had been going on. But it seemed the bad took over. Now he had nothing, absolutely nothing. Nobody to talk to and nobody to care for. Hell Mick probably wouldn't even let him help if he got injured, the young Scout bet he'd rather die than get help from Dennis. He was probably mad as hell with him, angry and sad and frustrated. And bleeding too, because of Dennis.  
All of it because of Dennis.

The Scout closed his eyes again and growled lowly, trying to get all the frustrating thoughts out of his head. He wanted it to be over, he wanted all of it to stop, he didn't want to be there anymore. He hated the base, he hated all his teammates, he hated his employer and he hated the entire fucking world. He wanted out, now. Staying here wasn't going to do him any good, hell if he didn't die he'd go on every day feeling awkward even looking at Mick, the guy that supposedly loved him yet somehow managed to not only steal him sexually but mentally. Dennis couldn't think of anything other than Mick, it was like the man had infected his brain, and now he would never be able to talk to him again, ever. It was pure torture.  
"Asshole!" Dennis spurted out, throwing the covers off himself as he got his underwear upp off the floor. He felt like taking a hot shower and scrubbing so hard he'd peel away three layers of skin, so not a trace of that man touching him would still be there.

Angrily and without any real plan on what he was doing, or was going to do - he just knew he couldn't sleep and staying in his room resulted in nothing but repeats of what had happened in there that night - Dennis got dressed. He soon noticed he didn't have his hat. That's right, it was still in that fucking australians room. Well he could keep it then, save it as a souvenir. But he'd probably just burn it up, Dennis bet.

The young, angry bostonian got his small handgun and his bat, and exited his room. He saw no-one around, not a soul in sight. They were all probably sleeping by now, after all it was close to midnight.

Scout wandered through the dark corridors, looking out the windows and following the rain and the bolts of lightning over the sky with his eyes. It seemed like there was no end to this storm, just like the drama between the kid and the bushman. Dennis frowned immediately. Not only because he was angry, but because he felt so incredibly bad, so guilty and yet he wanted to place the guilt on someone else, although he knew deep down it was his fault. He didn't want this, and he hadn't been asking for it either. All of it was because of that damn kiss. Because of this 'love' Mick spoke so of. It wasn't love, like hell it was, and if it was love then love was just as horrible as Dennis had always imagined. Obsession over something he could never have, taking over his body, mind and soul and replacing everything similar to a sound mind with blindness. Like a prison within himself, that's what he felt like he was in. No way out, inowhere to run./i

That thought, the thought of this never ending, of this pain and these awkward, horrible feelings to grow and continue to eat him alive got the youngsters heart to beat faster. He felt trapped and scared, and panic was really getting a grip on him now. He needed to get out. iHe bneeded/b to get out!/i

Suddenly energy took over the youngster, and he ran. He couldn't escape what he felt by just running, he knew that, he knew he'd have to live in this nightmare until the day he died, iif he didn't get out./i As he - just like all of his teammates - were under contract, they couldn't leave at any time they wanted. They were stuck here until the job was done. But fuck that contract and fuck the money he got for doing this, there was no way Dennis was staying.

He rushed out in the rain that was coming down so hard he could barely see five meters in front of him. Yet the youngster ran, through mud and water he ran. Until he came to a halt.  
The fence. The wretched fence! It was probably three times as high as him, coated with thin but painful barbed wire so nobody would be able to get in, or out. It WAS a fucking prison. But Dennis was determined, and he refused to give up and let a little wire stop him.

So, the kid began to climb. He didn't even get halfway up before his arm began acting up, the bullet wound still not nearly healed began to hurt like hell. Apparantly he wasn't in any shape to put that much strain on it still. But, stubborn as he was, Dennis kept going. For a bit, at least, before he fell and his back hit the ground, making him utter a pained sound that was barely audiable through the hard rain. In fact he was sure nobody had notice him leave the building even, and even if anyone had been looking out a window they probably never would've seen him, as the rain made it nearly impossible to see.

Drenched in sweat, blood and mostly ice cold rainwater, Dennis sat up on the muddy ground. He pulled his legs up and covered his face with his hands, feeling bot has useless and as hopeless and worthless as ever.  
"I don't wanna be here anymore...I want out, I WANT OUT! bFUCKING FENCE!/b"  
He suddenly got off the ground and punched the fence in anger, roaring loudly but still probably without making himself heard at all through the storm. Now cold and in pain, the young bostonian sighed as he felt his sad emotions beginning to get the better of him. How was he supposed to get out of here? There must be some way, some way other than climbing the fence. He couldn't wait until his arm was good again, he wanted out NOW.  
The only other way would be winning against the BLU team, and beating them so badly they'd have no chance of recovering, ever...so if he got the intel, and if he killed a bunch of them in their wretched sleep...maybe he'd be free then?

Deep down Dennis knew his ide wouldn't work, he knew he'd never be able to steal the intel and take on an entire team all on his own - iwith an injured arm /i-, but at this point he was so desperate that he'd probably punch a lion in the face if you told him it would get him out.  
"I need that intel...I gotta have that intel, and kill those freaks. Then I'll have done my part, and they'll set me free, they'll let me go, and I'll never have to return, ever!" The young bostonian clenched his fists against the fence as he spoke to himself, assured himself that if he did this he'd get his wish. He'd be out of there in no time and he'd never have to bother Mick again. The only reason he was happy about that thought, was because he fooled himself that as long as he didn't have to see or meet the man he wouldn't feel this strongly for him, it would all blow over and he'd be normal again. Any sane person would know it didn't quite work like that, but Dennis believed what he believed.

Determined to claim his freedom the youngster searched his way to the best entrance to the enemy base he knew; the sewers. From there he could sneak his way through the base to the intel, and on the way kill at least one or two sleeping bastards. It was a perfectly idiotic plan, and it just might work.

Dennis snuck through the stinky sewers as quietly as he could, keeping an eye out although he knew everyone was probably sleeping. But, he was too eager and too sure of himself to stop and think about turning around. He HAD to do this.

And so, as he made his way into the enemy base, he'd just gotten out of the sewers when he inconveniently enough spottet one of the BLU bastards. And it was of course the Pyro, too. iWhy wasn't that blu freak sleeping!?/i

Shocked - and with his reflexes slow as he was tired and exhausted - Scout fumbled to get up his little gun as the Pyro seemed to spot him. And, as the creature screamed - probably to warn the rest of the team although whatever he was saying was incredibly muffled because of that creepy mask -, Dennis saw fire coming for him. He turned and was about to head over to the sewers again after shooting his pistol a few times at the monster. The burning sensation of fire eating at his skin, burning through his clothes - although he was wet, so it was hard for the flames to really stick - got the kid to scream in agony, which was probably not a good thing. As he jumped down into the sewers again he heard the pained sounds of the Pyro seemingly trying to follow him, but he was hopefully injured by one or more of the bullets fired by the Scout. Honestly he didn't know at all how many shots he'd fired and he had no idea where he'd been burned. He just knew he was hurting hell of a lot and his body was filled with adrenaline that kept him running, as his heart was in his throat.

Finally reality seemed to catch up to Dennis, and he realized he wouldn't be able to do this alone. He couldn't even take on a fucking Pyro by himself. He'd been supposed to be the surpriser, and still HE had ended up injured. Damn it he sucked, he sucked at everything, it was a wonder he wasn't dead yet.  
As the youngster clenched his teeth as he was running through the long sewers, he heard the alarm going off in the enemy base. He was still on their ground, and he knew they were coming for him. Fuck now he was in trouble, but hopefully they were all in bed and had to get dressed before they could go to find him. Then there was still time for the youngster to survive. Although he wasn't so sure he wanted to go on living, but his instincts wouldn't let him just give up and die.

Dennis finally exited the sewers, the cold rain feeling wonderful against his still burning, aching body that was concentrated on his right side and hip, which probably would be the reason he had trouble running with his upper body straight, he constantly wanted to crouch in pain. But he kept running, best he could, and finally he reached his own base's sewers which was the closes entrance.

As he ran through the sewers, he noticed he was out of breath, and could feel basically nothing but pain and his beating heart that felt like it was gonna give up on him soon. And, once Dennis reached the stairs that would take him up from the sewers and into the main building, the youngster could go no further. He fell to his knees, breathing heavily and feeling dizzy, and soon everything began to go black. He collapsed, and the last thing he heard before his ears blocked out all sound was the alarm going off in his own base as well. So now everyone would know that someone had intruded on the BLU's territory. And that someone was Dennis, the Scout, the only one except the injured Sniper who would be missing when everyone got their things ready to fight. Everyone would know he caused it, that he was the reason for them not getting any sleep now. He'd fucked up once more, and somehow still survived. It was like a bad, neverending dream. But at least now he got a little sleep, as he fainted.

Mick sat on the edge of his bed, surrounded by complete darkness, he wanted it that way. He didn't want to see any hint of light, be it from the lamps or otherwise. For what felt like hours he had sat and watched silently as the dark storm clouds brewed over the base, watched as small droplets of rain evolved before his amber eyes into a flash flood. 2Fort was not famous for such storms, given that it was pretty much in the middle of a dusty desert slap-bang in the centre of no where.  
But anyone who lived there, RED or BLU, both knew that when a storm like this started to grow, the thing would last. For how long was anyones guess, it could last for hours, days even. But right now the Sniper didn't care, honestly he didn't give a shit.

Soon enough raindrops the size of mini-gun bullets were falling from the sky at such velocity that at one point the bushman thought they would break the thin glass window that seperated him from the outside world.  
It didn't take much looking at the Sniper to tell how he felt, he couldn't hide how he was feeling even if he tried. Right now he wasn't even sad about what had happened meer hours before in the Scouts room, right now he was angry. iFurious/i. Infact he was burning with so much rage that the older man just wanted to scream and lash out at anything, ianyone/i.

A bolt of lightening lit up Mick's room, temporarily reveiling a pool of blood around him. He was in agony yet his face showed no such emotion. Seering white hot pain lanced through his body as he thought back to how the Scout treated him as he was about to leave.  
"iWhat the fuck was he thinking...Stupid spasdic little shit.../i" Mick spat the words out through gritted teeth as he tried to move his injured arm. Did the kid iwant/i to hurt him? Did he iwant/i to cause him pain? It wasn't like Mick had covered up the fact he was injured, hell, he had a whopping dirty big bandage covering his arm -which in any case usually means DO NOT TOUCH- yet what did the kid do? Grabbed it, slammed him back down onto his bed to try not to make him leave only to tell him to get the fuck out not a moment later? It made no sense!  
"Little bastard really doesn't know what he wants..."

Half an hour later and Mick was still sat on his bed, he didn't want to move, nothing would make him. iOr so he thought/i.  
Infact the bushman was just begining to get a bit more settled when the piercing scream of the RED base emergency alarm rung out. Instinctively the Sniper launched himself off of the bed and suited up for battle, ignoring the small stream of blood that snaked behind him. Something was very very wrong, something didn't add up. Why the hell would the RED base be sounding the alarm after engaging in grusome warfare with the BLU scum all day. iUnless.../i

Thinking back, there had only been two other times since the twisted war began that the emergency alarm had gone off after a days battle had ended, both because of the same reason: O.O.H.I or bO/but bO/bf bH/bours bI/bnfiltration as it was more commonly known.  
The first instance of this happening was not long after they had all been recruited, when the RED Pyro had been out chasing moths on a cease fire day and wound up on enemy territory, this was thankfully a bloodless despute as BLU had chosen to turn a weary yet blind eye to the firestarters actions knowing full well that he was a maniac.  
The second instance of this happening was when a previous BLU Spy had been found infiltrating the RED base after fighting hours to which he was prompty interrogated and tortured to death, by Mick no less. He ihated/i the spooks, he didn't even trust his own teams Spy. They played dirty, used dirty tricks to get what they wanted and never had fair fights. Not professional at all.

Fully kitted up for battle, Mick sprinted down the hallway and out onto the battlefield, it wasn't often he was intimidated by the BLU team but tonight was no ordinary night. It was extremely difficult to see through the rain, -even more so when Mick could only see out of one eye- but what he could make out disturbed him.  
BLU's, the entire team, were perched around the outside of their base, all banding their selected weapons, they did nothing, no sounds, no movements. 'iWhy are the bastards just standin' there!?/i'  
Something had riled them, isomeone/i had got them spooked bad, and by the looks of it they were ready for anything to happen, they were ready for all out war.  
Slowly but surely a steady stream of Micks RED comrades began to dot the battlefield, looking just as ready as the BLU team and just as intimidating. They were ready. They were all ready.

The next crack of lightening that hit the Fortress was the bell that sounded the begining of the new fight, a fight that started with the BLU Soldier firing a rocket from his launcher. There were no battlecries, no shouts, no words of encouragement. It was just war.

Like the hunter that he was, Mick bolted for his lookout tower, the only place in this hellhole he knew to be safe -ior safer/i- than the deadly grounds below. However it was only upon trying to climb the ladder to the tower that the bushman realised his body would not allow it. "SHIT." The Sniper cursed aloud as he stumbled back down to the ground, holding his shoulder tightly. It was time to fight on the ground, out in the open. Not somewhere where any Sniper should be in combat. That he knew for sure. So instead he ran to the only other place he knew that he could have a chance at sniping in reletive safety, the Sewers joining onto the RED base.

Mick crouched down in the slurry of filth, laying flat against the disgusting smoothy of piss, shit, wasted food and general crap thrown out by his team. The Sniper aimed his prized rifel, the Machina, at the heavy on the other team and fired, hitting him in the chest. Unfortunately the bastard didn't go down, he looked like he didn't even feel it. Mick however was begining to feel a whole new world of hurt.  
Sludge, slurry, waste, all of it was smothering his wounded shoulder, the bacteria eating its way into his skin and nerves. It was unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. Mick could do nothing but grip his arm in agony as he curled up into a tight ball when briefly a smell caught his attention. Cigarette smoke. iOh no.../i

The Sniper squickly uncurled himself as the monstrosity that was the BLU Spy uncloaked infront of him, his butterfly knife gleaming in the dark,  
"No team to save you 'ere, bushman..."  
The words of the french man rung out through the hunters ears, he was right, the cold, calm tone of his voice made it all too clear that this was going to be a one on one fight. No one to save either of them.

Mustering all the strength he could manage, Mick grabbed the small knife hidden in his back pocket and lashed out at the Spy, mentally scolding himself for not retreiving his Kukri from the head of the BLU Sniper he killed some 20 or so hours ago.  
The Spy however, being in perfect health compared to the australian, disarmed him and struck the sharpshooter across the chest with his own blade, leaving a slick trail of blood across Micks face as the crimson liquid spurted from his body.  
The australians eyes widened as the new stinging pain lanced through his upper body, causing him to drop to the floor and be burried in the sludge once again. The battle had only just begun and already Mick had no fight left in him, Spy had kicked him square in the ribs for another solid five minutes before cruelly jamming the heal of his shoe into Snipers huntsman wound, causing him to scream.  
Slowly the Spy bent down, hooking his fingers into the Snipers shoulder wound and lifting him up so their eyes met.  
"I think I shall just leave you 'ere, bushman, let ze infection kill you slowly and painfully. This storm will drown out your screams. You will die 'ere alone."  
And no sooner had he appeared the spook was gone.

Mick panted, desperately trying to breath, he was caked in the slurry of the RED sewers, his chest throbbed from the long slash wound left from the Spys blade and his broken ribs ground against each other with each breath he took.  
There was nothing left for him, he had lost everything. There was nothing that could be said or done that would make the Sniper move from the spot he was in. iOr so he thought/i.  
Out of the corner of his eye, at the end of the sewer tunnel heading into the RED base, he saw what appeared to be two destinctive running shoes. "Oh god...S-Scout..."  
Micks eyes widened in the sudden realization that Dennis had not been seen out on the battlefield when the rest of the team gathered outside. Everyone was there and ready to fight...Scout...He was the one.  
The hunter scooped himself up and began rapidly running down the tunnel, shouting as loud as he could, adrenaline surged through his body.

"SCOUT!?...D-DENNIS!?..."

There was nothing going through the Scout's blank mind. There were no thoughts, he felt no emotions and he heard nothing. There was just nothing, a void of emptyness. Of course the youngster had no idea how long that lasted, but finally something began to break through the silence. Noise. Godawful noise, and a lot of it. Rockets exploding, screams and groans from men getting injured and possibly killed. Thunder rumbling, shaking the entire base as lightning lit up the night.

Slowly Dennis began to register sounds again. He still wasn't able to really think, or move, but he began to hear. It still felt like someone had stuffed cotton into his ears, but as the minutes slowly passed his ears seemed to pick up more and more sound. One sound that stood out apart from all the others, was the pained roar of Mick. The youngster's fingers twitched by the sound, and suddenly there was a thought. Mick. He'd screamed. Was he hurt? Was it all a dream, or perhaps Dennis was well on his way to hell and would have to endure those heartcutting screams for the rest of eternity? No, that couldn't be. Suddenly the screams stopped.

Dennis had at this point no idea of how injured he was, he didn't even realize he was lying face-down in sewer water, or the fact there was a war going on because of him. He didn't know that if he'd moved, he most likely would've been killed by that blu spy, hell he didn't even know there had been a foe snooping around. His mind was foggy, and he felt dizzy. His eyes refused to open and his body felt numb, he couldn't even feel pain, or how incredibly cold he was. So cold in fact his lips had begun to turn more purple-blue.

But then there was that voice, that ungodly noise of the bushmans voice that left Scout with a feeling of a hand squeezing tighly around his heart. His name was being called out, desperately. Mick was calling for him, and for whatever reason he listened to the fucker.

Dennis began to come to, his eyes opening only slightly as his vision was still blurry. Thoughts began to form in his head, mostly involving Mick and what he wanted, why he'd called out, why he'd been in pain, what was going on. Was he dead? Dying? Were they both dying? iWas Mick dying because of what Dennis had done?/i. All those thoughts seemed to get that little bostonian heart in his chest to beat harder, working to keep the body alive and making him wake up. He couldn't die, he needed to make sure Mick was alright, needed to make sure he wasn't dying and wasn't hurt, and if he was Dennis needed to help him. He just ineeded to/i.

"M-...Mm-ick..." With a groan the youngster whispered out the words. There came the pain. The horrible, burning pain clenching around his entire right side, all the way from his lower chest to the beginning of his thigh. That freak had got him good with his fire, and damn did it hurt. But he wasn't the only one injured, he soon noticed. As his eyes began to open more, Dennis was able to lift his head to look up at the half-blurry man standing there. Mick, or, Sniper as Dennis guessed he wanted to be called now. And he was ibleeding/i.  
"Ah...you...fffucker..." His powers seemed to all have been drained out of him, as the young bostonians head fell back into the wet floor of the sewer, and he glared up at the Sniper best he could although he felt like fainting again.  
"You...were supposed to...stay in bed...idiot..." Dennis closed his eyes as he groaned in pain, and tried to get himself off the uncomfortable sewerfloor, that was wet, filthy and stinky.  
"G-great...now...we can just...die together...ngh! W-wonderful, huh...fuck, that ugly b-bastard got me good..."

Mick stood over the Scout and tried to take in what it was he was actually looking at. The weak, almost lifeless body of the bostonian lay on the floor, his shirt - or what was left of it - was caked in the shit that was leaking out of the RED base and into the sewers behind them. One side of the kids body had been burnt badly by the enemy Pyro's flames, red blistering skin was exposed, it almost seemed to glow under the dim light of the emergency lighting hanging above the two of them.  
The bushmans face showed no emotion, he didn't know what to think, there was a part of him that wanted to walk away and not look back. But the other part of him...Well it was self explanitory.  
With a heavy sigh the bushman collapsed next to the youngster, groaning as he slid down the side of the wall. If there was one thing he needed to do, it was talk. Not about before, but about ianything/i. Right now his sole purpose was to keep the two of them awake. If either of them went to sleep they would not wake up. This was unfortunately a hard fact Mick had to face.

"You...you caused the alarms to go off. Didn't ya. Hm, no point in tryna bullshit me cos I know it was you..."  
Micks tone was stern and cold as his gaze seemed to burn into the scouts tired eyes.  
"Why did ya do it, kid? Did ya think it would be a good idea? Facin' all them BLU alone? Thinkin' you'd get one up on their arses before they realised?...What were you ithinking/i?"  
For a moment the snipers stern gaze seemed to burn brighter into the Scouts head, he wanted the kid to understand how stupid he was for doing such a thing. He ineeded/i the kid to understand.  
"Christ kid I...I'm so pissed at you...I know you don't wanna hear it but shit...You've put everyone in serious danger tonight. I mean...You set off the emergency alarm, got everyone up outta bed when they should've been resting...Not to mention made the BLU's absolutely furious...And not that ya care but if ya hadn't fucked the BLU off I wouldn't be layin' here near on belly up and you wouldn't be layin' here smellin' like a barbeque gone wrong..."

Mick sighed heavily, honestly he was so tired, tired of everything. He wanted to sleep forever. But looking down at the kid made him stay awake, even if he didn't show it, he was guarding the youngster, keeping his ears in tune with every sound, every splash, everything that could mean an enemy may be coming their way to hurt them.  
Slowly and painfully the bushman shrugged off his jacket, hissing as it slid off of the bacteria ridden wound on his shoulder and placed it over the young Scout.  
The Scouts expression as he placed the jacket over his freezing body seemed confused and looking at him Mick could tell the kid didn't seem sure wether or not to throw the thing back in his face or snuggle into it to try soak up the remains of the hunters body heat, thankfully the kid accepted the offering and kept the jacket over his fragile body.

Mick stared down at the scout, trying cover his extreme worry for the kids safety with a cold emotionless face and tone of voice,  
"I'd rather be pissed at ya alive than be pissed at ya dead...If I see ya tryna take that off when ya need the warmth so help me god i'll spill ya damn organs all over this sewer..."  
The hunter sighed heavily, he didn't like sounding so annoyed at the kid, not when he could see he was in alot of pain and looked so miserable and weak, but none of them would be out there in the first place if it wasnt for him.  
"Just...just try keep warm..."

As Dennis body and brain began to work again, he was able to pick up and process what the man was saying to him. His eyes were also able to focus on the bleeding man, sitting not too far from him, and although it was horrible for Dennis to see him like that he couldn't help but grin an emotionless grin. So he'd ben caught, and everyone probably knew he was responsible. Great, now he just WANTED to die, because he knew he'd hear the boys bitch and moan about this for weeks to come. And, Mick didn't seem like he was done acting upset daddy just yet.

While the bushman spoke, Dennis tried again to get up, but to no use. He was able to get his arms up so he could lean on his underarms and elbows, but to get up more thanthat was impossible for him at the time. He felt like utter shit, he was cold and tense, and his side was hurting like a bitch, and Mick was mad with him. Great.  
"I want out...I do-on't wanna be here...in this..f-fucking shithole anymore! I wanted the intel...and I wanted thos b-bastards...agh!...I wanted thm d-dead, so I could get out of h-here...and never c-come back...heh, you think I icared/i that I...might get caught? That you all could've gotten hu-urt because of m-me? Nah...nah, man I just...I wanted out, some way, even if I died."  
Dennis closed his eyes as his head hung, both sewage and rainwater dripping from his wet hair and clothes as he kept himself helt up on his elbows and underarms, that now had begun to shake.  
"It's my fault. I KNOW. I mess up everything, w-what the hell did you expect, dumbass..ah, fuck..."

Still fighting to get up as he felt his energy slowly returning to him, Dennis refused to stay on that filthy floor as long as he had energy enough to at least try to get himself up. But before he was able to get much further, the injured Sniper - who really oughta call for Medic or simply stumble away to find the german - took off his jacket and placed it over him, to keep Dennis warm. The youngster looked at the jacket, very briefly before glancing up at Mick with both confusion and surprise in his eyes. He thought Mick hated him, but apparantly the prick still cared a little for him. Just like Dennis still cared for Mick.

"...Thanks...numbnut.." Dennis mumbled as he gave Sniper a sort of weird look that was a mix between a defiant glare and a thankful, yet worried gaze. That wound on the mans chest didn't look good, nor did his injured shoulder. It looked awful really.

Dennis was still for a few moment, listening to the silence -apart from the sounds of teammates dying or getting injured, and thunder still rumbling- before he gave out a strong groan as he clenched his teet hand forced himslef up on his knees. He panted, having succeeded with the incredibly painful task, and glanced over at the bleeding bushman. The idiot who should've stayed in bed even when the alarm sounded, but like a retard he didn't seem to know his limits. Then again, who was Dennis to talk about that.

The young bostonian slowly crawled - more like pulled himself - over to the australian, refusing to letting the man force him to stay in one place and save his strength or whatever bullshit he might pull. Dennis only had one thing in mind at that moment. No matter how much he hated the asshole of a man he now had in front of him, he also adored him and cared deeply for him, and it hurt incredibly bad although he didn't shot it, to know that HE was the reason for Mick's injury and pain.

Placing a hand on the man's knee to keep himself steady and from falling down against the floor again, Dennis gave Mick a short glance, before his arms suddenly wrapped around the lower back of the australian as the young bostonian closed his eyes and buried his face against the bloody,wet, stinking man.  
"...don't...don't die...Mick...I'm coming right a-after you if you do..."

Mick stared at the kid and watched as he struggled to get up, he didn't argue, didn't tell the kid to lay back down or stay still, to be honest the Sniper was still pretty pissed at the kid, even more so after the little shit-bag said he didn't care if he got everyone hurt from his actions. It was hard not to be angry hearing that, but Mick knew this was the youngsters way of putting up his defenses after the previous emotional storm that struck the both of them and when it all came down to it all the australian wanted to do was to help Dennis see that he wasn't as worthless as he thought he was.

The sharpshooters eyes unlocked from the youngsters as they shut in pain, God he was hurting, he stank to high heaven of all the shit he'd been crawling around in and could almost ifeel/i the teeth of the millions of bacteria chewing their way into his wounds. iThe amount of anti-bac wash he'd need to clear these bastarding injuries up...that'll be fun.../i  
The older man could feel himself falling asleep, drifting into unconciousness when suddenly he felt weight on his knee. Given the situation they were both in Mick automatically assumed it was an enemy come to finish him off and jolted slightly at the touch, this however was not the case and quite frankly the realisation that it was in fact Dennis who had a hand on his knee surprised him even more. For a second Snipers features darkened, as if mentally telling the scout "iyou ain't getting off that easy/i"  
But looking into the kids eyes told the bushman all he really needed to know.

Dennis looked scared, he looked guilty and upset. Mick continued to stare rather sternly at the bostonian, trying his hardest not to give in to the kids heart-breaking face, this resolve was soon broken, infact it was shattered, when the youngster wrapped his arms around the older mans lower back and burried his head into the Snipers stomach. Well that was Micks tough guy act thrown out the window.  
The older mans expression instantly softened as he felt the bostonians body rest on his own, although this action didn't go without a isomewhat/i gentle scolding.  
"Argh...Damnit...E-easy kid, easy...I-I ain't dead yet, heh..." Micks voice was pained but soft, the last thing he wanted to do was make it seem like he was bollocking the kid for just wanting to feel secure.  
"...Bloody spook..w-went and kicked m..me in the ribs a fair few..Agh!... T-think he's broken em..We'll jus haveta w-wait n see if theirss a-any bruising when we're safe..."  
He looked down at the stinking, soggy excuse for a Scout that laid on his lap, hell they both must have looked like sorry excuses for mercineries laying there covered in shit.  
"...We're ge-gettin' you fixed up first..."

Mick silently survayed his surroundings, to the left of him, flights of stairs leading back into the base, to his right a bloody battleground.  
"Looks like we're takin' th-the stairs, kid..."  
The sentance that drifted from Snipers lips were barely audiable but thankfully the kid heard him, he just didn't have the strength to repeate himself.  
"This m-might hurt a little, bare with me y-yea, Dennis?"  
Without waiting for the youngster to reply, Mick scooped up the injured Scout in both his arms and cradled him for a second before shakily staggering towards the stairwell. Any other occasion and the hunter would carry the kid over his shoulders, but he didnt want to risk causing the youngster any more pain than he was already in and although he may very well be about to get an earful of abuse for carrying him like someone might carry a baby, it was best for the Scouts health that he stay that way. Little could be said for Mick however, who behind his straight face was gritting his teeth intensly from having to carry the youngster with both arms rather than the one good one.

The sound of soldier rocket echoed down the sewer tunnel, making Mick instinctively pull the Bostonian closer to his chest to keep him safe, keeping his eyes ahead he dare not look down in case he lost footing on the steps. Getting them both safe was all he had his mind set on, aside from they occasional beating of Dennis' breath against the open skin on his chest. Mick wasnt sure if the youngster was deliberately blowing soft puffs of air into the open gash across his pecks in order to try relieve him or if it was just unintentional, either way despite how it stung, the australian smiled inwardly, ias long as i can feel you breathing I know you're ok. You keep breathing Dennis, I need ya. I'll keep you safe if its the last thing I do. I'll always keep you safe./i

Although the groans and the way Dennis seemed to be able to ifeel/i the pain pulsating through Mick's body almost made the youngster want to let go, it also made him want to hug even tighter around Mick just to make sure he was still there, still breathing, still alive. But, no matter how badly Dennis might want to hold the man, he had a limited amount of strength, and getting himself up and crawling all the way over there had taken a lot of it. Now he needed to stay still for a moment, to build some more up so he hopefully could get up on his feet - eventually.

Quite frankly Dennis didn't care about the scolding, he didn't care if Mick was mad at him - well, he did care but at that moment he had worse things to care about -, he just wanted the man to keep talking or at least keep breathing so he could feel it, and know he was still alive. The heart beating inside that australian body was calming for the young bostonian, and he found himself solely listening to it's even heartbeats and blocking out all sounds of rain, thunder and death that echoed through the sewers. The low sound of that beating heart almost made Dennis fall asleep - or possibly faint, he wasn't even sure himself which - and his grip of the older man became weaker. It was then that Mick seemed to think it was time to get going.

The Scout wasn't really sure how it happened, but he was suddenly not on the sewer floor anymore. He wasn't on any floor, his feet weren't resting against anything, just hanging. It took a moment before the youngster was able to open his eyes, and realized the australian - iwho was bleeding and had several broken ribs/i - was CARRYING him. Slowly but surely they were making their way into the base, where they could be cleaned up and bandaged. But Dennis didn't like this at all, he didn't want to be a freaking bruden to Mick - literally -, and he wanted to walk on his own. He knew, however, that if he began to struggle now he would only hurt himself and the bushman, and risk them both falling as Mick didn't seem all to steady on his feet just yet.

With eyes just like a puppy in despair, Dennis glanced up at the bushmans dirty face, stained with what was probably his own blood. And Dennis could feel - and see - the bleeding wound on his chest that seemed so dirty it made the youngsters skin crawl. All that bacteria...it wouldn't do to just put bandages over that, that wound needed to be completely cleaned.  
And this was his fault. All of it was his fault, Dennis' fault. All he seemed to ever do was cause the bushman pain.  
The thought made an unbelievable wave of guilt wash over the kid, and he wrapped his arms around the australians neck best he could, to help keep himself up. He knew he was rather small and light, but in Snipers condition even carrying a shotgun would probably prove to be difficult.  
"'m...s-sorry, Mick...you s-shoul've...left me t-there, you'd be better off...without me...I just m-mess things up...nnngh- e-even when I mean...well.."

The low, struggled mumbling Dennis did against the australian's chest, not realizing he was breathing right onto his wound, was about as loud as he could be in that moment. Although he felt like speaking up clearly, asking not only for forgiveness for doing this but for just being a constant thorn in Mick's side, he simply couldn't be as loud as he wanted - used - to be.

But, he needed to speak up again, and get the sniper to really listen to him. They couldn't go to the medical bay, not yet, it would do them no good. They were drenched in God knew what, and even if they used anti-bacterial on their wounds they'd still have so much bacteria all over the rest of them they'd probably get sick, or still get some sort of infection.  
"M-Mick...l-listen.." Clenching his fist as tightly as he could - which wasn't very tightly at all - around the man's blood-and-shit-drenched shirt, Dennis refused to give in to the agonising pain in his side, and forced out a few final words.  
"T-the...showers...go.."

The climb to up the stairs felt like it took forever, injured people weren't meant to climb stairs and hell, injured people icarrying/i other injured people certainly werent meant to climb stairs. But it was either the stairs or the battleground and Mick knew which one he'd rather take his chances on.

The Australian kept his eyes firmly fixed on the glowing red "Entry" sign a few flights above him, right now that word was the most important thing in his universe because he knew it stood for something, isafety, protection, shelter, warmth/i. Everything that any normal human being would take for granted in their daily lives.

With each step climbed it was both a small victory and a crushing defeate, Mick knew that with each passing movement he and his Scout were one step closer to being warm, being safe. But he also knew that with each step he took his body weakened, bloodloss, pain, cold, infection, all elements were against both him and the youngster cradled within his arms.

Micks ears tuned into the bostonians voice as barely audiable words slipped out of his delicate lips, and although he couldn't hear most of what the kid said, one word in particular rung out loud and clear. "iSorry/i"  
Dennis was apologizing? Why? Well, Mick iknew/i why, this whole fiasco could have been avoided, if it werent for the hot-headed little mongrel but still, now was not the time to waste any more energy on words that could be spoken later.

"Shh, kid. N-no more talking, y'hear?"  
He didn't hear the bostonian reply but instead felt the weak grip of the youngsters hands tightening ever so slightly. Seeing Dennis like this broke the hunters heart, it truely did. The man adored the little Scout, cherrished him with ever fibre of his being. But there was still the fact that if they both survived this they'd still have to talk about what happened in the youngsters room. Even if things didn't work out the way Mick hoped they would, he still had to make sure the air was cleared between them as best he could. He just ihad/i to.

Mick was now at the top of the stairs and he inwardly thanked God for getting up the wreched things. It was quieter up here, the sounds of his comrades dying around him, coupled with the storm and the sound of artillery were now muffled and barely audiable. It was then that Mick heard the youngster speak up again.  
The bushman looked down into his arms at the injured Scout staring back up at him, ihe wants to go to the showers?/i  
It made sense, really it did. They were both covered head to foot in all manner of waste, both human and other, but the only thing on Mick's mind was to get the both of them to the Medical bay.

"We need to g-get you fixed up..." The Snipers voice shook as he scanned Dennis' features, the face staring back at him showed nothing else other than pleading, the kid said no words back but the look in his eyes practically begged the older man to do as he asked...Even if it was the last comand he ever gave to the bushman.

Mick's face softened as he exhaled a short, painful sigh. He couldn't deny the youngsters request, in fact it was probably a better idea right now than going to the medical bay when they both knew that their doc would be out on the field. At least if they attempted to clean up a bit it could wash away the shit that iwasn't/i clogging up their wounds. But there was the other half of Mick that just wanted to say "no", after what had happened in the kids room he just wouldn't feel right being in the shower room with the bostonian, even if it was just trying to help clean all the shit off of him.

The bushmans eyes began to melt away from the gaze of the broken Scout staring up at him, the older mans face was now back to looking like a stone wall of concentration to get them where they needed to go. iPraying that he wasn't about to make a potentially big mistake/i  
"...Showers it is then..."


	8. Chapter 8

Dennis had been sure - no, he had known - that Mick wouldn't like the idea of them going to the showers, and trying to say he just wanted to go to the medical bay to get Dennis fixed up - who wasn't even bleeding - wasn't an excuse the youngster was willing to take. Mick needed to get cleaned up, he needed his wounds to be rinsed from waste and blood, and then they could go to the medical bay to use some anti-bacterial and see to it that the bushmans wounds would be perfectly clean. Dennis really just needed something to calm his still burning hot skin down, to make the pain go away. It felt like he still had flames eating at his flesh although they had since long died out, and worse was the fact he was certain he'd get a pretty bad scarring on the side of his body from those flames. Fucking Pyro, now he would look like some sort of freak. Well that was just wonderful.

Using the biggest puppyeyes he could, Dennis stared up at the australian who still didn't seem to like the idea of going to the showers, and Dennis' faint guess was that he had several reasons. One of them probably being the fact they both would have to get naked, and also probably help keep each other on their feet hey washed up. After what had happened between them earlier in the youngsters room had left some pretty deep wounds in both of the men, so taking a shower together now might just be the most uncomfortable thing they could do. If anything though, Dennis oughta be the one who was concerned about that as he still felt like shit for letting the australian touch him so intimately, only to then just walk out on him. But, the Scout was willing to forget about that - at the moment at least -, put away his pride and just do what they needed to make it through all this shit.

A small but definite smile took place on the youngsters face when his carrier seemed to give in, and headed for the showers that thankfully enough weren't too far away. In fact as they came closer, Dennis felt like wiggling out of the grip Mick had on him, to try and walk by himself. Hell he couldn't be carried around like a baby for all eternity, and he needed to stand up if he was gonna take a bloody shower. So, as they reached the showers, Dennis began to gently struggle to get Mick to let go of him.  
"Nngh- let me down..I c-can stand by myself..!"  
Besides, that wasn't the only reason why he needed to get out of the australians grip. Dennis needed to undress to take a shower - well if he wanted to get completely clean at least - and he rather do it - just like he imagine the Sniper did - with his back to the man, a few meters away. But it proved to be a struggle to even stand, and although Dennis was able to keep himself from collapsing although his entire side hurt so badly he just wanted to curl up into a ball on the floor, he realized he would have some major problems as soon as he let go of Mick. All the while the australian was bleeding and probably exhausted from carrying the youngster, and still he was able to stand. And all Dennis had was a freaking burn injury, and it drained his strength incredibly. Damn that made him feel so weak and fragile, he just wanted to vomit.

The youngster still held on to the Sniper for all his life with one hand, while the other one gently pulled the jacket off him, slowly and struggling with every movement. Dennis uttered a whimper in pain as he had real trouble even breathing, as the skin on his chest stretched a bit as he did so, causing his injury to hurt even worse. But it didn't stop the stubborn little bostonian, and he eventually got the damn jacket off. Now all that was left was...well, the rest.  
Dennis sighed, frustrated by how incapable he felt to do anything at all. He hated it.

Mick smiled inwardly as they reached the shower room, breathing a sigh of relief as the youngster squirmed out of his arms. It felt like the weight of the world had literally been lifted from his shoulders. Now it was time to get cleaned up -as best they could anyway- so they could head off to the medical bay for some much needed treatment.

The Sniper watched patiently as Dennis awkwardly shrugged off the jacket that he had been given, no doubt the kid was glad to be rid of the filthy thing and it surprised Mick that the youngster didn't tip over from the weight of it draped over him.  
Mick frowned lightly as Dennis looked down at his burned side in disgust, through all the sludge and slurry that stuck to him the hunter could see the bright red and pink blistered flecks of skin peeling off of the Scouts body.i Poor kid/i

"Don't look so freaked out over it kid...atleast you can kinda ihide/i the scars it'll leave...heh..."  
The Sniper flashed a warm, all be it sad smile to the bostonian, looking at the Scouts injuries made him think back to the day the BLU fire-starting bastard clipped him with his flare gun, the damage it caused, the scars it left down the side of Micks face.  
After that day he subconciously stayed away from mirrors, he didn't want to look at himself, didn't want to be reminded of the fact he -in his eyes- looked like some sort of freak. he didn't want to be reminded of the fact he was a mercinary whos sole purpose was to use keen eyesight, fine, but not so fine when only ione/i eye now worked.

After somewhat snapping back to reality from his flashback, Mick noticed that Dennis was using him for support to stand. iStubborn kid.../i Rather than making a remark on the fact the bostonian looked so weak and helpless right now, the bushman simply tilted his head to one side, signalling for the Scout to sit down on the side of the only bathtub in the room.  
It was a pretty good seat really, none of the team had baths, there never seemed to be enough time to take one so instead the showers were put to good use instead. But now that the kid was sat down came the trickey part.  
Getting the youngsters clothes off.

"We're gonna take it easy, alright?" Mick slid his fingers under the remaining fabric of the Scouts shirt, looking at his younger team member with worried eyes, "I'll be as gentle as I can be, y'hear me? You need me to stop for a few minutes then tell me..."  
The bushman survayed the damage that BLU Pyro had done to the Scout, ihis/i Scout, and sighed. Along the boarders of where he had been burned, flecks of his vest had appeared to have melted onto his skin, binding living tissue to its fabric in some sort of twisted, putrid new form. The thought of trying to peel away the kids clothing when some of it was actually istuck/i to him made Micks stomach do summersalts. He didn't want to cause any more pain, he didn't want to see the youngster hurting anymore. Hell, he would do anything at this moment in time to make all the bostonians hurt vanish.

"If you need to, then hang on to me kid...I've gotcha"  
Mick smiled warmly at the kid, trying his hardest to just make Dennis feel as comfortable as possible, he wanted the youngster to know that no more harm would come to him while he was around.  
Without saying any more, the hunter began sliding off Dennis charred shirt.  
iI've got ya kid.../i

It seemed damn near impossible to get the shirt off at this point, as Dennis had a hard time even standing straght, much less reach his arms up enough while holding the damn shirt to get it off. So he started a little smaller, and successfully kicked off his shoes, although he did so on unsteady feet, nearly falling over even. Luckily he had Sniper who actually seemed to do a lot better than the youngster when it came to being steady on his feet. But, as Dennis took a short pause as his shoes were off, and as he began to think about what clothes to take off next, he noticed the older man looking at him. The bostonian looked up at him, pain obvious in his eyes and face, and although Mick said nothing the silent order for Dennis to sit down on the tub made the youngster's face screw up in a rude 'Are you fucking serious?'-face. But it wasn't like he had a choice, as Mick was what mainly kept Dennis on his feet, as the man moved over to the tub the kid had to follow. Grumpily and cursing underneath his breath, Dennis sat down like Mick wanted him to, feeling like a fucking kid.

Pain seemed to quickly take over the irritation and the way it all felt so incredibly awkward. Although Dennis seemed to almost out of reflex begin to shove Mick's hand away as the man grasped his shirt, the pain in his side quickly got him on other thoughts. He had to ignore the fact it was all so awkward, and let Mick help him. Because, in all reality there was no way he'd be able to make it on his own. In fact there'd never been a chance for Scout to survive here, hadn't it been for Mick. He seemed to always look over him even if he wasn't around at the time something happened to Dennis. For christ sake, he'd fainted in the freaking sewers and the next thin he knew he was being carried out of there by the wounded Sniper. Hadn't Mick been around, then Dennis would've been long gone.

Clenching his teeth and whimpering in pain as the shirt began to come off, forcing Dennis to lift his arms, the youngster felt his breaths turning rather shallow simply because of the pain. It felt like he had a firebreathing dragon biting at his side, as the pain was both stinging and sharp, as well as agonizingly burning.  
"Nnn-ah! D-damn..." Although Dennis hadn't realized it, as the shirt finally came off and he was able to properly look at the horrible mess that was his side, he'd grasped the australians arm and was holding it tightly. Whether it be to steady himself because of the pain, or because he felt safe holding onto the man, Dennis didn't know. He only had eyes for the blistering injury that undoubtedly would become a scar. A scar just like the one Mick had, though he'd been unlucky enough to get hit in the face with the flames. Dennis couldn't even begin to imagine how horrible that must've been, if his side hurt this bad, how bad wouldn't it hurt to get half your face melted off?

The kid's eyes drifted from the wound as he took a moment to collect himself, before it would be time to get more of his wretched clothes off. He glanced up at Mick for a moment, his eyes seemingly studying the scarred side of the bushmans face. By now Dennis was so used to it, so used to seeing it that it didn't look odd at all. It was just the way Mick looked, and if he didn't look like that then it wouldn't be Mick.  
"..y-you don' look too bad.." Although his voice was still weak, the silence in surrounding them made Dennis heard. He'd noticed the way Mick had seemed to frown when briefly mentioning his own scar, and it was a shame because he wasn't ugly, if that was what he was thinking. He wasn't ugly at all.

Dennis snapped out of his thoughts, and looked down at himself again. He then realized he needed to get socks, pants and underwear off if he wanted to get really cleaned up. And, since he was too badly hurt to get his ass over to the showers by himself even later, now was his only chance to get himself cleaned. So he would all in all ineed/i to let the bushman undress him completely. That was when his mind began to protest - wildly. He couldn't, he didn't want to, there was no way.  
But no matter how angry and stubborn his brain was, Dennis had no chance of stopping it now, he knew he needed the clothes off, so he'd just have to bare through it. He could at least take off his socks by himself now that he was sitting down, without putting too much strain on himself.

Mick smirked at the Scouts remark, now aware that the kid must have seen him frowning before.  
"Cheers. Glad ya think so b-but...Well nevermind, differences in oppinion n' all that..."  
The Sniper glanced down at the youngsters injuries, the burn covered the majority of the kids side and to be honest it made him feel sick looking at it, the thought of the BLU bastard perminantly scarring ihis/i Scout's beautiful pure skin made Mick growl with rage, he had tainted his delicate little Scout. Damaged him. iHurt/i him.

"I'm in the right m-mind ta go back out there n' plant a bullet in both the fuckers knees so he c-can't get away...Then he'll get to see what those flames of 'is really taste like..." Although said aloud it was more a memo to himself rather than adressing the Scout. He wanted to go back out there oh god he ireally/i wanted to go back out there. The pyromancing blighter was as good as dead in the australians eyes now.

It had now come to Micks attention that the remainding clothes Dennis had on now had to be taken off. Pants, underwear, the whole package.i Oh good grief.../iSwallowing a little harder than he wanted to, the bushman shakily knelt to the floor and grabbed hold of the Scouts pants, looking everywhere but the kids face as he did so. God this, this didn't feel right. Hell, he iwanted/i it to feel right, truly he did...But right now? Not a chance. Too much had happened in such a short space of time. Too many things that honestly the Sniper didn't want to be reminded of yet couldn't escape.  
Eventually the silence became too awkward for the older man and he just ihad/i to break it.

"I'm...I'm sorry..." Gently he slid Dennis' trousers down, still refusing to make eye contact with the Scout as he continued.  
"I'm sorry for...For hurting y-you...I uh...Well I shouldn't 'av walked out on ya back in uh...in your r-room, I j-just...just..."  
At this point Mick was finding it increasingly difficult to string together the words he wanted to say to the kid. They were both in the wrong, he knew that, and he also knew that if it hadn't been for him walking out on the bostonian then maybe none of this would have happened. The guilt washing over him was unbareable.

Now it was time to take Dennis' underwear off. Something that right now, Mick really really ibreally/i didn't want to do.

Staring down at the ground, the australian gently grabbed hold of both sides of the kids underpants and as quickly as he could yanked them down. He was lucky the kid didn't get dragged off of the bath tub. Right now he dared not look up, right now he wanted to leave the room, spin some sort of web in the corner of his watch tower and never come back down. But there were two problems. bOne/b the kid needed to be helped getting cleaned up, he could barely support his own fragile weight so leaving him to his own devices was out of the question and bTwo/b Mick couldn't actually stand up, trying as hard as he could the muscles in the australians legs were not taking any commands from his brain like they should have, he had no energy left to stand back up. Great, wonderful. All the bushman could do was sit there, head lolling like a ragdoll and staring at the floor, waiting for the kid to ask why he was just sitting around in front of him when he now had no clothes on.  
iThis actually could not get any worse.../i

Dennis felt like assuring the bushman he was handsome, telling him the scars on his face didn't make him look bad at all, but he got distracted as Mick began cursing the Pyro instead, only to then grasp the kids pants. Dennis took his eyes off Mick and looked down at his pants, where the bushman's hands were firmly grasping the fabric and the youngster could feel the pressure - ithe warmth/i - of his hands as if they were right against his thigh. It felt incredibly awkward at that moment, so Dennis just wanted it to be over with. He unbuttoned his pants and helped Mick best he could with taking them off, almost keeping an eye on both the man's hands and his face to make sure he wasn't touching anything he wasn't supposed to, or kept his eyes somewhere he wasn't supposed to.

To Dennis surprise, the man then began to speak, stutter even. And he was apologizing, bringing up that delightful fiasco that had happened in the bostonians room that night. Great, now he got Dennis thinking about that again.  
The kid looked away as he pulled his feet out of the pants to get them off completely, as he continued to listen. In a way he could understand and yet not accept how Mick had just walked out on him. He could understand it must be horrible to feel like your feelings weren't answered, to feel like the person you were with perhaps only was doing it for lust and nothing else. iBut that was exactly the reason Dennis had asked if Mick would still like it, even if there was no love between them, or if he didn't want Dennis if Dennis didn't truly want him/i.

Now there was only the underwears left. Dennis already felt exposed an ashamed - for many reasons -, and now it was about to get worse. He could feel Mick's hands on his hips again and the youngsters hand quickly joined to help take them off. But, as Dennis struggled to get the underwears down, Mick suddenly yanked them off, taking no care to go slowly and carefully. It came like a shock to Dennis who just grasped the man's arm even harder with the hand he used to steady himself against Mick. After that rushed undressing, it was quiet, and they both were still. It felt like every second was an hour, the awkwardness just growing even worse for each passing minute. And then Dennis noticed. He noticed that Mick really refused - avoided - looking at him. Not only did he avoid looking at even the injury the kid had, he wouldn't even look up at him. Oh, so that was how it was, was it?

Dennis frowned. Not only out of anger, but sadness too. But the anger did a good job taking up most of the space in Dennis' face and eyes. It wasn't like he WANTED Mick to stare at him or anything - in fact right now that would've made him very uncomfortable -, but the fact that the man who'd said he loved him and had seemed to love looking at him before now refused to even meet Dennis' eyes...it was horrible, and Dennis felt horrible. He felt incredibly hurt.  
"...So now you can't even look at me, huh?" He didn't mean for it to come out, and he was surprised by the fact he didn't stutter. But it was like the pain had been put aside, just for a moment of numbness.  
"If I'm that ugly, just l-leave...I can..take good care of myself..."  
Dennis words were now more unsteady again, muttering as his pain began to eat at him again. He let go of Mick's arm, and held onto the bathtub instead. He didn't need that damn australian, and he didn't want him there either if he just thought Dennis was some sort of monster he couldn't even look at anymore.

Mick was shocked. Well and truly. The kid thought that? Really? The words that came out of Scouts mouth were as if they had been spoken to him in a foreign tongue, none of it made sense. Why wasn't Mick looking at him right now? Wasn't it obvious!? The Scout was sat there arse naked with the australian practicallly sat between his legs and he wondered iwhy/i after everything that had already happened between them he wasn't willing to engage in any sort of eye contact!? It was this confusion that started to get Mick angry. Very angry. So angry in fact that he was given a temporary boost of energy and clambered to his feet, hovering dangerously over the bostonian.

"Ya think...that I th-think you're ugly? Thats actually what ya think is it? Did it not c-cross ya bloody mind that I didn't wanna sit there gawkin' at'cha because ya not wearing any f-fucking clothes!? After ieverythin'/i thats a-already happened you really thought me starin' at ya in the buff would make ya feel any l-less uncomfortable than y'already are!?"  
By this time Mick was shouting, loudly, the pain of suddenly being stood up causing his throat to crack at every other word he said which only made him more irritated.  
"You always jump to conclusions, Dennis! A-always! I've already told ya time 'n t-time again that ya should be proud of who'ya a-are! I bDO NOT/b think you're ugly! Shit I th-think you're fucking bBEAUTIFUL/b ALRIGHT!? Hell, if ya think that I think you're ugly b-because of them new burn scars then tell me, WHAT THE bFUCK/b DO I LOOK LIKE TO YOU!?"

Mick slammed his fist into the side of the bathtub, making new stream of blood run down his arm from his shoulder. The sudden rush of agony made the older man drop to his knees as he tried to hold back a strangled scream. There was literally nothing more the bushman could say. He told the kid he thought he was beautiful. He truely meant it in fact there wasnt anything more truthful to ever have come out of his mouth. To Mick, Dennis was the only star in the night sky, he was a diamond surrounded by grubby broken jewels...iHe was perfect/i.

"I...nngh...I c-can't convince ya anymore...b-but know this, D-Dennis...Y-you are th-the most pe-perfect person I...I've ever had the honour of m-meeting...agh!...A-and if that don't c-convince you...well then...I..I don't kn-know what will..."

Staying steady where he sat suddenly became the least of Dennis' concerns when the bushman suddenly stood up, and stared at him angrily like he'd done so many times already during the past 24 hours. Dennis held onto the tub for all he was worth, trying to lean away from the man staring, shouting at him. He was honestly afraid he'd get a punch in the face soon, as pissed as the australian seemed. And the blood from his wounds were really gushing out now, shit he shouldn't be standing up, shouldn't be screaming and shouting and he definitely shouldn't be punching things! Dennis wanted to tell him to stop, to pull him down and get him calm, as obviously the man was in a whole lot of different pain.

The words shouted at him in that strong, low, pissed voice of the australian really shut the kid up, and he was unsure of what to feel. He felt incredibly...happy, somehow. Yet sad and ashamed, and angry because he wanted to tell the man just what he'd told Dennis, that he was beautiful and not ugly in any way shape or form like he seemed to think.

It seemed the both of them had issues with themselves, and trouble fitting together. Yet it seemed nothing was able to fully tear them apart. Dennis had honestly thought he'd never speak to the man again after Mick had walked out before, and yet here he was. Not only was he talking to the man, he had been saved by him, and they needed to help each other best they could in this time of need, which was proving to be a great big fat struggle.

Silence followed while Dennis helplessly - having trouble moving, and not knowing at all what to say - stared at the bushman, sitting on the floor in pain. Damn it this wasn't good at all. Dennis both felt like making his way over there, ieven if he had to crawl/i to hug the man, and at the same time he felt like just keeping his distance. He wasn't sure what Mick wanted, or what he himself truly wanted. It was all just a big mess.  
"...You look like Mick to me.."  
That weak, unsteady voice made itself heard once more through the silence, as the young bostonian watched his teammate with his eyes, although Mick wasn't looking at him.  
"...a-and you're...f-freakin' handsome, too...you w-wouldn't be...my Mick, if you didn't have those scars.."

It didn't register to the youngster that he'd just oraly claimed Mick as his own, he honestly didn't realize what he'd just said. Perhaps it was because in some odd way, it felt natural to say it. In whatever case, he just kept looking at the man sitting on his knees not too far away, but still too far for the momentarily crippled youngster to reach him.  
"I-I'm sorry for everything, alright!? I knew that this w-would happen...I KNEW I'd just be a freaking bother t-to you!  
...but you said...you said you loved me...a-and I...I didn't want to l-lose that..I DON'T wan't to lose that!"

The Snipers entire world seemed to come to a halt. In Mick's mind, time and space did now no longer exist.  
iYou wouldn't be my Mick if you didn't have those scars...You wouldn't be bmy/b Mick.../i  
His Mick? Dennis had claimed the bushman as his? For a minute the australian wondered if he had misheard. Shit for all he knew the kid might not have said anything and could just be the bloodloss and pain doing all the talking! But he knew that his thoughts were false, the Scout really had called him "his" Mick. Although the sharpshooter was not looking at the naked youngster in front of him, an immensely huge grin was plastered across his face. This however, soon faded as the bostonian began to speak up again.

It worried Mick just how much Dennis seemed to hate himself, to loath himself. Sure, on this occasion the little bugger had screwed up big time going into the BLU base out of battle hours, but hearing how the kid thought he was so much of a pest to the older man made him frown. Slowly the bushman raised his head, his voice warm and calming as he began speaking,  
"You ain't n-nothin' of the sort...Y-ya think you're that much of a bother t-to me? Kid, if I thought you w-were that much of a pain in my arse then I-I'd have told you b-by now, heh."  
Carefully the older man began to move his legs, shakilly begining to stand and all the while praying to God he wouldn't fall back down. Eventually Mick managed to find his footing and staggered over to the tub that his young Scout was sat on, if he was going to convince the youngster to feel better about himself then now was the time to do it.

Painfully the Sniper lifted both his arms -ignoring the small stream of blood and gunk dripping onto the floor from his shoulder- and embraced Dennis as gently as he could.  
"Don't you e-ever think you're a b-bother to me, Dennis...W-without you I'd be l-lost..."  
Quickly, Mick planted a small kiss on the bostonians forehead and without waiting for any response back rested his chin against the kids soft hair. Right now he just wanted Dennis to feel safe, to know he wasn't a hassel to the bushman.  
"You don't h-have to be alone again, D-dennis. Ya won't be losing me any time soon, I c-can tell ya that for free."

For a brief time, Mick closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep, he wanted to sleep with the kid in his arms, to keep him safe.  
Truthfully the older man was scared, he almost lost the youngster, came within an inch of losing his companionship with the kid all together and didn't want it to happen again. They both had problems, anyone could see that, but to the Sniper this just felt right, he ihad/i to be with this youngster, at such an early age it had already seemed like so many people had given up on him. Mick however, decided he would rather die than give up on the kid and his hug around the bostonians delicate frame tightened ever so slightly.  
"You'll never know w-what it feels like to have s-someone walk out on you ever...ever again. I p-promise...Now c'mon, lets get y-ya clean..."

Seeing Mick struggle to get up made Dennis' legs twitch slightly as he wanted to get up himself to help the man, but he was far too weak to stand up himself and he knew it too well. So instead the youngster could only watch as the Sniper struggled to get up on his feet, only to walk over to him. Dennis reached out a hand to gently put it on Mick's side, grasping his shirt slightly in an attempt to help the man stay up in case he'd be about to fall to his knees. It was really bothering him to see the man like this, and especially to know he was the reason for his pain, the reason he could barely stand and the reason he was bleeding. Somehow the fact his other teammates might be dying out there on the fields didn't bother the bostonian nearly as much as the fact he'd hurt Mick did.

Surprised, Dennis felt the bushman's sticky, bleeding body close to his as the older man hugged him gently. It felt odd, and kind of uncomfortable considering the stink and all the blood, but none of that had a chance against the warm feeling growing in Dennis as the man spoke to him so softly. And the kiss he got made the troubled youngster forget about everything for a moment as he closed his eyes and gently wrapped his arms around Mick, best he could. He grasped the bushmans shirt and held on to him, as he leaned his head against Mick and took it all in. The warmth and happiness of the moment, the way he felt such relief suddenly, and how the pain seemed to fade when Mick held him.

"I-I'd have no purpose, wi-ithout you, Mick...I...I did wh-what I did..b-back in the BLU base, b-because...I just didn't care an-nymore...b-becuse I thought...you'd never want to t-talk to me again."  
Dennis spoke in a quiet, almost whimpering voice - which was very rare to hear from him, and yet here he was unable to not expose exactly what he felt to Mick - as he cherished the moment, and hoped with all he got that things would work out. Despite all this, he knew things still weren't perfect between them, he knew they had issues that needed sorting before they could go on to officially be together. But right now, he liked to think everything was good, and that in the end everything would be perfect.

Slowly Dennis began to let go of Mick, and he looked up at the bushman with eyes that spoke a million words. He was happy, yet sad, and he felt guilty for what had happened but thankful that he had Mick.  
"Alright...b-but I'm not gonna go in the f-freakin' tub...a-and I'm not goin' without you."  
Although Dennis wasn't able to speak very loudly - even breathing proved to hurt - he refused to stay quiet and just let Mick take such care of him, without minding his own wounds and the fact he needed to get cleaned up much more than Dennis did. So the young bostonian gently pulled a little at Mick's shirt to show what he wanted; for the clothes to come off.  
"You n-need to...shower too." He commented, just to make it clear he wasn't going in that shower unless he knew Mick was coming too. Although it still felt a bit awkward to think they'd be nude in the shower together, Dennis focused more on health rather than his shyness about his now - in his mind - defigured body.

Without a word Dennis helped Mick get the shirt off, although he let the bushman do most of the undressing because he didn't want to seem eager for anything - because he wasn't, not in that way...at the moment at least -, and then he took a chance to try and get himself up from the tub while Mick was taking off the rest. Although it was hard for him to stand, Dennis managed to keep himself steady against the wall as he began to make his way into the showers closeby. He was still stubborn about making it by himself, he didn't need help iall/i the time, and he wanted Mick to know that.  
But as Dennis finally reached the long line of showers, he felt just about ready to collapse. He was, however, able to turn on the damn shower, before he let himself lean against the wall and sink down into a sitting position on the floor. It felt pretty damn trashy sitting in the shower, but also incredibly good as the half-cold water - too hot water would hurt too damn much on his burn wound - washed over him, getting any shit off his body and out of his hair that had begun to look more brown than blonde.

With a relieved sigh, Dennis leaned his head back against the wall as he closed his eyes and felt the water cleaning off most of the crap he was covered in. He'd probably need to try and get up so he could clean himself properly, but sitting for just a moment longer couldn't hurt.

Mick observed silently as the young Scout made his way over to the showers, honestly he admired the kids will-power, just looking at him the Sniper could tell he was just about ready to drop -which he did- but thankfully of his own accord.  
Nothing pleased the bushman more than to see his little heroes body begin to relax under the cooling stream of the shower, seeing all the grime and filth melting away and leaving the bostonians beautiful skin made the sharpshooter smile briefly.  
Carefully, Mick removed the remaining clothes that clung onto his body, the putrid crud sticking to the fabric made it harder to simply slide them off but after a few moments of gritting his teeth and wriggling awkwardly the australian was eventually free.

Micks eyes seemed to close automatically as he reached out his hand and allowed the clean, cool water to fall through his fingers, to say the opposing Spy would call him a "filthy bushman" whenever they came into contact on the battlefield he really was the complete opposite and always enjoyed a good shower each evening or occasionally a sit in the tub when he was given the rare window of time that allowed for such relaxation. None of those showers compared to this one though. The australian slid down the side of the cubicle, leaving behind him a trail of sewer shit and blood on the wall behind him. At this moment in time he actually started to relax, to rest, to allow his mind to go somewhat blank of thoughts and just enjoy the feeling of the crystal clear water cascading down his body.

The room had been in complete silence for about 5 minutes, -a long time for two men who could very well still be in danger of losing their lives- Mick didn't feel the need to talk at this time, instead he concentraited on fighting the aggrivating pain that came from having the occasional jet of water spurt directly into one of his open wounds. It really did hurt like a son of a bitch, but there was no way he was going to get out of the shower until a bit more of the filth had been washed off of his body. he didn't have to be squeaky clean, he just wanted to be cleaner.

Eventually the Sniper opened his eyes and stared over at the youngster, even if it was only slightly, Mick was glad to see the kid visably relaxed compared to how he was prior to getting into the shower.  
The bushman groaned quietly as more refreshingly painful spouts of water made contact with his injured shoulder and chest, deciding to try and focus on something else he began speaking.

"D-Dennis? I'm glad I found ya when I d-did...I'd have gone barmy if somethin' had happened to my s-Scout..."  
Cautiously Mick patted the youngsters leg, he wanted to reassure the kid, make him know that he shouldn't have to run into a base full of enemy murdering bastards to prove his worth.  
The australian painfully sighed through gritted teeth, keeping his amber eyes fixed onto the younger mans face as he smiled warmly,  
"P-please, don't e-ever do that again...If ya do I'll tie ya to a nailed down chair so you can't bloody run off heh...Alright?"

Although the feeling of the rather cold water was relieving for the burnwound on most of his right side, the youngster still felt a pulsating pain throughout his body. Every move he made it hurt worse, so he tried to just be still even though he had to occasionally pull a hand through his hair, just to make sure all the shit in it was washed away. He knew he wouldn't be able to take a shower for a day or two once he was all patched up - well he could but then he'd have to go through the procedure of taking off and putting on the bandages, and if he was still in this much pain that would be as hard of a task as taking off his shirt would've been, had he done it by himself- so he might as well try to get himself as clean as possible.

As Dennis let himself just sit with closed eyes, leaned back against the cold wall he was finally beginning to relax. His heart had been in his throat for mostly the entire night, for different reasons. It had started with lust, then anger, then fear and pain. But now, his heart seemed to finally beat just a little bit slower, allowing him to feel how incredibly tired he actually was. It was probably morning soon, and neither of them had slept at all. And their teammates were probably just as tired, still they were out there fighting for their lives. Because of Dennis.

The youngster groaned at the thought, clenching his teeth and closing his eyes tightly in an attempt to shove away the thoughts about how it was all his fault. But he knew it was. He couldn't blame anyone else for the pain he was in, or for the pain Mick was in, or for every life that supposedly was lost that night. It was his fault, and his fault only. He could blame the rage and desperation he'd felt in the moment, but that wouldn't justify a thing. With a sigh, Dennis curled up a little more where he was sitting, seemingly having forgotten about the company of Mick. He was soon reminded though, when he could hear the bushmans soothing voice, although he obviously was in pain as he spoke.

The young bostonian finally opened his eyes and looked at the australian who looked like utter shit with all the blood and shit slowly being rinsed off his body. But those things, that quite frankly made the youngsters heart hurt - especially all the blood - were soon forgotten when he heard what the Sniper said. His Scout? iHis/i Scout? It still hadn't dawned on the youngster that he'd let that word slip earlier, he wasn't aware that he'd been so possesive when speaking about Mick, but suddenly a light seemed to turn on his his head as the bushman patted his leg. They considered each other property...well, Mick did anyway...but Dennis had said the same thing, even if he hadn't meant to, it had just slipped out...but in that case there must be a part of him that saw Mick as his own, and nobody elses. Thinking about it for a short moment made the young Scout realize he indeed couldn't and wouldn't tolerate Mick with anybody else. He didn't know why, but the sheer thought enraged him, yet he had a hard time accepting himself as Mick's property. There were still those troubling thoughts about how it wouldn't work out. Then again, it was quite obvious they wouldn't be able to get away from each other as long as they were there, anyway. So perhaps they might as well try to make it work.

Dennis glanced ove Mick with half-lidded eyes as he felt a bit weak, and willing to fall asleep as soon as he found a bed. The young bostonians eyes followed the bushman's face, down to his neck to his bleeding shoulder and chest, and another jolt of pain struck him. He really felt bad for causing the australian so much pain.  
"G-getting the intel...is m-my job, 't's what I do here..."  
Dennis looked up at Mick again, meeting the man's eyes without a smile. He was happy too, happy Mick was alive, happy he himself was alive, and he was only thankful the bushman had pushed himself and gotten them both to the showers. It was far more than what Dennis would've been capable of.

Looking down, Dennis watched the water run along the floor after falling off his body, before his eyes were directed to the Sniper again after a moment of silence.  
"If y-you promise...not to be so f-freakin' stupid that you get an arrow through you...j-just because of me...I promise I wont do this again...alright? I s-swear, you get any m-more scars because of me, an' I'm outta here...one way or another..."  
Though the words seemed harsh, maybe even cold, Dennis only wanted the man's best. And after letting out a pained sigh, he carefully scooched closer to the naked bushman sitting not too far from him. The fact they were both completely nude and in the shower together - which in any other point in time most likely would've been Mick's dream - didn't really make it's way into Dennis brain at that point. He just had one thing on his mind; the man - the person - beside him.

The youngster very gently slipped his hand into Mick's, entwining their fingers best he could as he looked up at Mick with now pleading eyes.  
"Mick...y-you gotta stop...w-worrying about me so much...p-please...be careful...you're n-not gonna be of a-any use to any of us if- nngh...if you're all c-cut up..."  
Dennis spoke best he could as he felt his muscles tensing by the pain in his side, although the burning feeling had been calmed a bit thanks to the cooling water. His blue eyes weren't as cold and stern as his earlier words had made him sound. They were pleading, worrying even for the australians wellbeing. Perhaps it was just the fact he was tired, or in so much pain he didn't have the energy to put on a stonecold face, but Dennis didn't for the moment mind that Mick could see how he felt by simply looking at him. All the feeling he had for the older man were there, among the worry and the pleading looks there was that undeniable love that always made Dennis look twice out on the battlefield to make sure Mick was alright, whilst he usually only threw a quick glance at his other teammates. There simply was something about Mick that made Dennis feel so different, that he couldn't deny.

Mick looked down at his hand, smiling weakly as he felt the youngsters hand snake around his. It felt so right...But...  
Staring down at both mercenaries hands it seemed to hit home in his exhausted mind just how different they both were from each other. Dennis' hand, -now free from filth- was pure and soft as new fallen snow, innocence practically resonated from his delicate skin. Then their was Mick's hand, larger than Dennis', so much so in fact that if the bushman tried he could most likely hold both of the Scouts hands in his one, his skin was darker, tanned, worn from years of intense Australian sun, various scars dotting his knuckles from both fist fights and burning himself on his cigarettes when not paying attention.  
The sharpshooter chuckled and lifted his arm slightly, raising the younger mans hand up with him,  
"Lookie there kid. What do ya see?" His voice was soft, gentle as he continued.  
"We're s-so different, look at our hands, both tellin d-different stories, different lives...Yet we're s-so similar, somethin' must have happened to the both of us that we can b-both relate to for the two of us to end up i-in ithis/i place..heh heh nngh.."

Micks eyes shut tightly as a wave of new agony washed over him, even though he only lifted both his and the Scouts arms up very slightly, doing so with a completely wrecked shoulder was a bad idea all around, something the australian was sure to mentally scold himself for doing in between failing to supress groans and various curses.  
"Oh a-al-so..." The older man managed to hiss the beginnings of his broken sentence out,  
"I m-may not be s-so useful to the team a-all cut up...ngh...B-but I'm still gonna wo-rry 'bout ya e'ry day like I 'ave b-been since I l-aid eyes o-on ya..."

After a short while more of allowing the shower to cleanse the both of them, Mick's mind began swimming back up to the surface of reality again, a slight frown creased his bruised face.  
"This a-ain't a walkabout...We n-need ta get outta th-ese showers soon and g-get to the med bay..."  
The sharpshooters amber gaze seemed to glow with newfound worry and concern for the both of them.  
"R-emember kiddo...Just b-because we ilook/i clean on the outside d-don't mean we'll be clean on the inside..."  
He gestured to the wounds on his chest and shoulder with his good arm, scanning the bostonians own horrific burns with his eyes as he did so.  
Mick's hand automatically tightened around the youngsters smaller one at the rage of what BLU Pyro had done to his scout/i.  
"I don' wanna h-hear any if's and's or but's about it, alright? We n-eed to get fixed up b-best we c-an until the doc gets back..."

Mick didn't wait for the kid to respond and instead focused on getting up again, dear God it hurt, his ribs ground against each other, the slash on his chest burned and he didn't even want to think about his shoulder. All in all he wasn't doing a very successful job and this soon showed as he promptly slid back down the walls of the shower and onto his behind with a small yet painful thud, causing the bushman to release a frustraited growl from deep within his throat,  
"I've ireally/i had enough of f-falling on my arse for this w-week..."

Dennis was briefly drifting away to a silent, white place where nothing but that calm white color was all he could see, but the Snipers voice and moving of their hands quickly pulled the youngster back to reality and he began to hear the sound of the shower again. It wasn't a good sign, he knew. He'd passed out before and usually everything went black before his eyes, but this time it had felt more like a calming, embracing whiteness pulling him away. Dennis focused best he could on Mick, locked his eyes on their hands and listened to the australian speaking. What he said made Dennis glance up at his face for a moment, following the water rinsing away any filth left in that soft hair and moving down Mick's face and neck. With a little sigh the young bostonian smiled, briefly. This really wasn't the time to be as deep as Mick was being, about how they were so different and yet so alike. Perhaps he had a point, still this wasn't the time.

That fact was proven when Mick took on a look of pain again, and Dennis' brief smile quickly disappeared and he looked more worried. He was in a whole lot of pain himself, but seeing the blood continue to gush out from the australian worried him greatly. Without noticing it himself he squeezed Mick's hand a little harder, and felt when doing so how calloused the man's hands were. Big, strong and scarred, while Dennis' were smaller and possibly a little softer. Still, his knuckles could deliver perfect punches, despite being smaller than Mick's, but it was obvious who the bigger and stronger individual was of the two. And yet, Mick seemed to be nothing but kind to Dennis when it came down to it. Sure he'd shout every now and then like a furious mother, but he'd never once hurt Dennis although he very well could. Hell he could probably strangle the kid with one hand, but those hands had done nothing but help and comfort the youngster.

It troubled Dennis greatly, however, that Mick seemed so fond of him. Seemed, heh, well, iwas/i so fond of him. It would - and already had - create big problems on the battlefield, but the Scout doubted his older companion would leave the base unless Dennis left with him. Their feelings for each other had become an obstacle, something they needed to get rid off in order to keep fighting and surviving at the base, or something they needed to let blossom - anywhere but there. They couldn't stay at the base for long if things between them got more serious, that much was clear to Dennis.  
"We gotta get out of here..." The youngster mumbled to himself, quietly as he watched the bushman with a troubled look as the man groaned in pain.

Still holding hands, Dennis watched as Mick tried to get up and attempted to follow, but before he was able to the man fell down again. Not only was the floor slippery but they both were badly hurt, so getting up would prove to be quite a big problem. It was nothing they couldn't overcome, though. Mick had for Gods sake carried the little bostonian up all those stairs, he must be able to get up in the shower.  
"Come o-on old-timer, you're not d-done yet..." Dennis let go of Mick's hand, wriggling his hand out of Mick's grip before he was able to successfully - but a little unsteady on his legs - get up from the floor. From there he began to help the australian up.  
"'least now...w-we don't look like we got f-fucking flushed...d-down a toilet..."

With a strained groan the youngster refused to give in to his pain as he reached down to help pull Mick up, and once he got the man up on his legs he quickly got the australians arm around his shoulders to try and help hold him up, so they could get out of the shower - which would prove to be an even harder task. Now they were both on their feet - good -, now they needed to walk all the way out of the showers, get dressed and walk to the medical bay...and they didn't have any clean clothes...not good.

"F-fuck, Mick...w-we don't have an-ny clothes! God-damni- agh!" Cursing as he got irritated and furstrated at it all - it seemed the day and the night had brought nothing but pain and grief, and very little pleasure although while it lasted it had been amazing for him - the young bostonian nearly fell to his knees as the pain seemed to eat at his entire side.

"T-towels...f-freaking towels...I'm not p-putting any c-clothes on, I j-just got c-cleaned up..."  
The low, painful grumbling of Dennis was most likely hard to hear through the echoing sound of the shower that was still turned on. He'd forgotten to turn it off, but fuck it if he cared. He didn't care about the shower, didn't care about their clothes scattered all over the floor, didn't care about all the mud and shit and blood coating the walls and floor - not to mention the tub - where they had been.  
None of that mattered, all he wanted was to get to the damn medical bay so he could lie down. But first they needed towels. Even if it didn't 'protect' much, it would be better than them struggling to get their filthy clothes back on.

Dennis helped Mick over to the tub, sitting him down on the side of it where he'd have an easier time getting up from once the young Scout had found some towels. He knew where they were, but his mind wasn't working properly. It seemed that whiteness that made him unfocused on anything, distracting him and blinding him, was making it's way into his mind from time to time, and it made it hard for the youngster to focus. He was in so much pain he couldn't feel much else, so staggering around looking for the damn towels was done almost automatically as he felt numb, yet he had that unbelievable pain pulsating through his body.

Eventually he found the damn towels, white and clean and fluffy, perfect. But one of them would soon be coated with blood as Dennis gave it to Mick, meaning for him to put it around himself. They probably could've just made their way to the med bay naked, everyone of their teammates were most likely out on the battlefield still. Though, Dennis didn't want to risk getting seen. Besides, if either of them would pass out at the medical bay they might have to stay there until the doc came around, and the Medic most likely wouldn't like having two naked men passed out in his workspace.

Micks eyes lazily followed the youngster as he desperately staggered around the room, for what exactly the bushman wasn't entirely sure, all he knew was that whatever the kid was looking for he was getting more and more worked up over it.  
Even in the now steamy light of the shower room, with a face wracked in pain and overwhelming stress, Dennis looked absolutely breath-taking to the Australian. The older man knew he shouldn't be thinking it given the current situation but when the youngster approached him and wrapped the soft woolen towel around him, Mick just wanted to take Dennis there and then.

The towel the young Scout had wrapped around Mick's battered frame made the bushman close his eyes briefly, it felt so nice, so soft, fluffy, dry. Everything a good towel should be really. But it wouldn't stay that way for long, no sooner had the plush fabric touched his skin it was begining to dye crimson with blood making the bushman growl in annoyance.  
"Oh f-for piss sake! We re-ally a-are in trouble...Ain't we k-kid..nngh.."  
Micks amber eyes seemed to mist over with sadness as he looked at the charred body of his lover.  
"We...We gotta go Dennis...We need to get to that med bay...c-come on..."  
By this point in time taking things slow and steady were no longer an option to the Australian. Looking at how difficult Dennis found it to stand or even breathe for that matter pumped Mick up with adrenaline and made him stand up suddenly, the older man could hear his shattered ribs popping and grinding at the sudden movement but said nothing. In his mind, there was a time for doing and a time for saying. Now was a time for doing.

Eyes now glazed over with a somewhat brainwashed sense of desperation, Mick wrapped the rapidly reddening towel around his waist and grabbed hold of the young Scouts wrist, pulling him to the direction of the shower room door.  
Mick was now in his own auto-pilot mode, he could hear Dennis being pulled along behind him but didn't actually hear anything of what the bostonian was saying. All he knew was that he was speaking, protesting perhaps? Who the hell knew? The older man sure didn't, all that was repeating in his mind at that moment in time was the route to the med bay -which thankfully for the two of them was only a minutes walk around the corner of the corridor-.


	9. Chapter 9

After a while of walking -iand mindlessly dragging his lover behind him/i- Mick had guided them to the medical bay, a small feat for those who weren't knocking on deaths door, but for the bushman and the youngster it was a small victory on their part.  
With an iron grip on his Scout making sure he didn't leave, the australian kicked the door open and swung Dennis around so the kid was now infront of him. Truthfully Mick didn't really see the youngsters face, more stared through him towards the bed infront of the both of them.  
Eventually, after waging a war with his brain over how to form words, the older man inhaled and began to speak, his tone stern yet dripping with worry and concern for his lover.

"Get o-on th'bed Dennis...I'm treating th-at b-burn and a-anywhere else on th-at beautiful body that h-hurts..."

Dennis didn't notice the way Mick had been looking at him, there was nothing in his mind other than the task at hand which was to first get the towels and then get the hell out of the shower room and head off to the medical bay. How they were supposed to make it there he didn't quite know, they both were exhausted and ready to drop. Yet, Mick suddenly stood up just as Dennis had leaned a hand against the wall beside them both, resting for a moment as his legs felt like they would give way underneath him. The young bostonian looked up at the determined australian, who suddenly gripped around his wrist with one of those big hands of his. And it wasn't a soft grip, either.

Before Dennis had time to really comprehend what was happening, Mick was pulling him away from the wall and towards the door. Dennis who felt incredibly unsteady on his legs felt a panic grow as he no longer was able to lean on anything, should he feel like he was about to fall.  
"S-shit, easy!"  
Dennis frustration was clear in his pained voice as the bushman pulled him along, and although they youngster tried his best to keep up with Mick's newfound energy it was hard, and he ended up grasping at the older man's arm in order to pull himself up when he'd fall. Of course, although he fell Mick didn't stop, he continued forward as Dennis fought to get up on his feet so he wouldn't be pulled along the floor, which he occasionally was anyway though and that caused his feet to become somewhat reddened. Not that that mild pain was anything compared to the burn on his side that still made him want to curl up in a corner, but still.

The youngster felt lost, dizzy and like he had cotton all around him. He couldn't quite understand what had gotten over Mick or what was going on, but suddenly his older companion didn't only open the door to the medical bay, he kicked it open. Well shit where had all that energy been earlier? No matter, Dennis had no time to ponder further about it as the bushman viciously yanked him into the medical bay and in front of him, which made Dennis let out a pained yelp as he then stared up at Mick. It didn't seem the australian had his eyes on him at the moment though, instead he was leading Dennis to the bed and telling him to lie down so he could heal him up. The rather sweet words in that sentence made a flattered feeling grow in Dennis, but it was quickly silenced when he noticed the blood still flowing from Mick's wounds.

Though the scout was practically forced to sit down on the bed - which was a great relief to do -, he refused to let go of Mick just yet and desperately tried to look the man in the eyes as he attempted to speak.  
"F-forget about it M-Mick, you're b-bleedin' all o-over! W-we gotta s-nnngh...s-stop the bleeding first, I-I'll be...just fine..."  
Dennis tried his best to keep his voice steady, but obviously failed miserably as he looked into the Sniper's eyes, pleadingly. He wanted Mick to at least cover up the wounds somehow, so the blood wouldn't escape so easily. If he didn't he just might die once he'd tended to the youngsters wounds. Time was short, and Dennis thought quickly as he noticed there weren't any bandages lying around so they'd have to search for them. Without a word he pulled the already bloody towel off Mick's hips, and pushed it against his wounds without a warning. He knew it probably hurt like all hell, but he just wanted the bleeding to stop.  
"K-keep it there...a-and I'll get b-bandages...and then...you can t-take care of me...alright?"  
The bushmans eyes burned with frustration as -ito no surprise/i- Dennis refused to let him be treated first.  
Mick sighed heavily, soon after regretting it from the pain it caused his shattered ribs.  
"Argh!..Listen 'ere ya s-stubborn little mongrel, when I-I said that I was gonna t-treat ya injuries I imeant/i it...nngh S-so sit still,i shut up/i and just let-..."  
All previous bravado in the australians voice was now silence, unable to finish his sentence Micks eyes widened, pupils shrunk to pin pricks as he stared at the bostonian. Slowly enough his eyes dropped to the source of why he could no longer speak;  
Dennis had taken -all be it ripped- off the sharp shooters crimson stained towel and was now forcing it into the deep wounds on his shoulder and chest in what appeared to be his own attempt of stopping the stream of blood flowing out from his body.

Mick couldn't talk, he could barely draw in a breath as the seering white hot pain lanced down his right arm and body.  
For a brief moment all the bushman wanted to do was to floor the youngster for causing him so much pain without warning and although this thought came and left Snipers mind quicker than a flash of lightening it was plain to see that he was -temporarily- furious, the knuckles on his good hand gripped the side of the bed until they went a ghostly white and for a second Mick thought he might throw up or pass out from the agony, but the back of his mind told him that there was ia lot/i worse to come when it was time to properly clean his wounds out so may as well grin and bare it.  
When Dennis began to speak up however, Mick's rage seemed to instantly quell, hearing just how concerned the youngster was for his own wellbeing warmed his heart and rather than verbally responding to Dennis' plan to find bandages he instead nodded dryly.

Watching his little hero rummage around for any sort of medical padding in the office envolked a lot of different emotions for Mick. First and foremost being anger, the Scout had always been one for never listening to his other team members, his larger-than-life attitude got him in all kinds of trouble out on the battlefield so much so that Mick often wondered if the kid would respawn straight. But then again, deep within the confines of the bushman's head he knew that his wounds really did need to be covered atleast temporarily before he could begin treating the bostonian and that was when the bushman begun concentrating more on the other emotions he was feeling.

iPride, Courage, Respect...Love/i

A few moments later and Mick began to draw in a breath to speak, although this simple thing proved a hell of alot easier said than done.  
"K-kid..."  
The Sniper began, his voice hitching in the back of his throat,  
"Do-Don't forget to find some c-cream f-nghh..for that burn 'o yours..."  
Slowly his eyes lowered away from the blurry yet stunning figure of the Scout staggering around him, Micks voice was now almost inaudiable and secretly he hoped the kid wouldn't hear him  
"S-sit back down with me D-Dennis...I need to look at y-you...iGod I l-lo...love you…/i"  
Dennis eyes were stuck on the towel he now forced against the older man's chest, successfully stopping the blood coming out of the big wound. Well, at least he was stopping it temporarily, but he needed to find some bandages to wrap around the australian. The young Scout doubted the man would let him clean out the wound and do all of those things at that moment, he seemed to be itching to help Dennis feel better, so for the moment the focus was on simply stopping the blood. Later the wounds could be properly cleaned, once the stubborn australian had gotten his way and helped mend Dennis' burnwound.

The scout hadn't really listened to the bushman, even when his voice had become angry and stern and even demanded of him to shut up. It didn't matter what Mick said, Dennis was going to stop all that blood before he let the Sniper touch him again. And so, the youngster got up off the bed - having trouble doing so as his legs didn't quite want to co-operate still, he more like slid off the bed - and felt the towel irritatingly enough falling off his hips down to the floor. With a little groan Dennis gave the white fluffy towel a look, before he began searching for bandages. He couldn't reach down to pick it up, it would hurt too damn much and he'd probably just fall to his knees. Besides, Dennis didn't even care if Mick saw him perfectly at the moment, he was completely focused on finding those damn bandages.

After making a mess by opening every drawer and every cupboard he could find closeby, Dennis had finally found a whole lot of bandages that he got back with him as he staggered back to Mick and the bed. It was then, when he put down the bandages and was preparing to tend to the australian's wounds that he heard the man's low voice again. Of course Mick wanted him to still get something for his own burnwound...well, he knew that that ointment he'd used before worked wonders, but he also knew Medic had told him sternly only to use a bit of ointment, and yet Dennis had used a whole lot of it. But it worked, at least. Quite frankly Dennis didn't care if they only had a little of it and that maybe his other teammates might need it more than him or Mick did right at that moment, for the only people who seemed to matter in the young bostonian's mind was Mick firstly, and himself secondly.

Dennis got the ointment that luckily was stored not too far away, and his tired, light blue eyes locked on the bushman. He could hear the soft, silent voice again, and although it was hard to hear perfectly what Mick was saying, Dennis somehow picked up on the message. Without even really thinking about it he sat down next to the older man, and just looked at him for a moment. He quickly noticed the australian looked like...well, like a wreck. Water still dripping from his hair, blood everywhere and a look of pain on his face. Still, he was the most attractive man Dennis had ever laid eyes on.  
"T-this...ointment...I u-used it for my arm...l-look it's..i-it works..great...it'll help heal th-e wounds q-quicker." Dennis said, forcing away the fuzzy thought about how good-looking the australian was - this really wasn't the time - as he made himself ready to use the ointment best he could on the bleeding wounds. If anything it might hopefully make it heal up enough so it wouldn't bleed so freaking much.

Scout got his eyes off the snipers face as he used the bloody towel to wipe some of the blood away, before using the ointment on the wounds. Although it most likely hurt to have the youngster poke around his wounds like that, the ointment would help, even if it was just a little. Still, Mick would need Medics help to heal up perfectly.  
After using some of it on Mick, Dennis quickly got to work on bandaging him up, now completely concentrated on it. He didn't let anything except Snipers voice distract him from what he was doing, and although he from time to time felt like he was drifting away, Dennis refused to let himself even think about passing out.  
Mick's eyes screwed up tightly as he felt the kid's hand rubbing the healing ointment into the wounds on his body, a pained hiss escaping from between his teeth.  
"J-jesus kid, b-be careful... argh!" the bushman couldn't help scolding the youngsters actions -ieven if they were for the greater good/i- and grasped at the bed. In all honesty the bushman was doing himself no favors, making his body so tense only caused the muscles to tighten around his broken ribs and other injuries. What he really needed right now was to relax...Even if it was just for a moment.

Cautiously the sharpshooter opened his eyes and focused them onto the Scout, making a mental note that the kid was now once again naked, iGod if he wasnt the most beautiful guy he'd ever laid eyes..well..an eye on/i. Soon enough the ointment had been smoothed into his wounds and the youngster had begun to bandage him up. Whether he knew it or not, Mick now had a rather wide and warm smile stretching across his face as he observed the younger of the two patching him up and couldn't help but release a pained chuckle,  
"Heh..Y'know k-kid, t'say y'ya such a heavy hitter out on th-the field... you're re-real gentle when it c-comes down to it a-ain'tcha? Even more so when y-ya in the buff...heh heh ngh!"

Once again the Snipers eyes clamped shut as he felt the bandage around his shoulder tighten rapidly, whether this was the bostonian's way of scolding Mick for somewhat pissing on the kids masculinity or just him making sure the bandages were secure iti really/i hurt and both the combination of the pain and the Snipers own mental scolding for saying such a thing kept him from saying anymore on the subject.i A definite change in topic was in order.../i  
Awkwardly the bushman cleared his throat and briefly glanced at Dennis' face again as he watched the youngster finish the temporary patching up, "I wonder...I w-wonder how the lads a-are gettin' on out there..ngh when I see that bloody Pyro...a-and that filthy spook for th-at matter...I'll 'ave their h-heads for trophies..."

After another pain-staking few minutes of making sure all injuries were wrapped up good and proper Mick breathed a small sigh of relief, in his eyes Dennis could be a better Medic than their own the way he handled the situation relatively calmly. Truth was that Sniper never liked their Medic, not when he was on the job anyway, outside of battle he was a reserved and pretty patient individual who enjoyed relaxing with the rest of the team and his pet doves, but on the battlefield however...Well that was a different story. The man was ruthless, a blood-thirsty killing machine who stood behind his wrecking-ball of a partner, the Heavy and saw to it that no BLU scum was left standing. In the medical bay this same blood thirsty nature seemed to shine through aswell, seemingly void of all previous patience when dealing with any team members in pain, even going as far as to occasionally smirk slyly to himself when his comrades screams echoed throughout the base form the way he "treated" them.  
Honestly it made the aussie shudder at the thought. But like it or not the both of them would have to have their wounds thoroughly examined before they could even think about going into battle again, or even getting back to their regular out-of-hours lives.

With a small huff, Mick observed the Scouts handywork, compared to when the kid had tried to wrap up his own injured arm this attempt was pretty damn good. All appreciation put aside though it was now time to do what the bushman had wanted all along: to try mending his lover.  
Gently, Mick rested his good arm on Dennis' shoulder, tilting his head to one side slightly to look into the bostonian's beautiful yet pained face as he planted the smallest kiss onto the youngsters forehead in thanks.  
"Y'did ace m-mate...N-now lay down...Gotta get'cha well a-again..."  
The pained sounds coming from Mick were everything but enjoyable for Dennis to hear, and he did his best to hurt the man as little as possible. But, he still needed to secure the bandages and make sure they were wrapped tightly enough to stop the blood and to stay in place. Unintentionally though, the youngster let out a slightly embarrassed grunt and pulled at the bandages a little more when the bushman commented on how gentle he was being, naked and all. Just for the record the youngster made sure to pull his legs together and sort of try to hide himself best he could, when he was now reminded of the fact he was obviously nude. Still this wasn't exactly the time for Mick to be checking him out, but it seemed the australian focused on the wrong things at the worst of times. It had happened on home than one occasion. Maybe he was feeling even more light-headed than Dennis, and maybe it was hard for him to focus on anything. Maybe he was just spurting out whatever he thought about, and not really thinking it over. Whatever the reason, Dennis decided not to think about it too much, but he sure as hell was gonna make sure to get some clothes on as quickly as possible so no further distractions would be a problem.

Once the bandages were on and the blood didn't even seem to seep through them, Dennis secured the bandages and looked Mick's chest and shoulder over just to make sure the bandages weren't going anywhere. With a little nod as answer to Mick's irritated words about the damn pyro and the damn spy, Dennis finally began to feel a little less anxious and worried. Now Mick was at least safe - for the moment. The blood was stopped and the ointment oughta help a little to speed the healing up at least.  
As Dennis took one last look at the man's scarred - but wonderful - torso, he noticed Mick's hand ended up on his shoulder, and before he knew it the man was so close to him he could feel that familiar and even homey scent surrounding him. The kiss got the young scout to close his eyes momentarily as he hadn't been suspecting it, but it seemed like time stopped for just a second as the bushman's lips came into contact with the scout's skin.

Dennis didn't realize it himself, but his hands gently grasped the man as they were now sitting so close. He felt safe there, calm suddenly and...strangely happy. Though the youngster - who, unlike Mick, knew what was right and wrong to do in that particular moment - was aware that this wasn't the time or place, and although he kept telling himself that, he felt the urge to kiss the bushman grow inside him. The snipers calming, soothing voice however, was able to kee Dennis back as he with a short glance at the older man's face followed his directions. Scout lie down on the bed, taking it carefully as he did so, and once he was down on his back he looked up at the bandaged man soon somewhat hovering over him, seemingly looking at the burnt side of the kid.

"E-easy...alright?" Dennis rather weak voice made itself heard though the silence, as the bostonian looked up at the bushman. His eyes showed just the amount of pain he was in, but also the affection he had for the man he was looking at, and the worry about what would be of the both of them. Would they really make it through this? Would it hurt a lot to let Mick take care of Dennis' burnwound? Would they have big nasty scars for life? The answer to the last question was most likely a yes, and it didn't sit too well with Dennis.

The Scout's hand suddenly made it's way to Mick's, grasping it slightly but the grip remaining pretty weak as he felt very exhausted at the moment. It was however a great relief to be lying down.  
"I d-don't care how h-hard you have t-to be to survive i-in the bush...just t-take it easy wi-ith me, man...I'm n-not where y-you're from."  
It was rare for the young bostonian to talk of himself as weak, or even indicate something of the sort. But, Dennis could do without anymore pain at that moment, he just wanted it all over and done with. Scout squeezed Mick's hand slightly, and although his voice remained serious and almost a bit cold, his eyes and face showed something completely different. A more soft side to him, a side that felt emotions almost a little too well.  
For a moment the sharpshooters amber eyes wandered across the younger mans skin as he lay on the bed, knowing that the kid had so much trust in him to be able to sit there naked -even though right now he didn't have that much of a choice- was quite touching to the older man, however he soon found himself frowning slightly as the whimpered words of the Scout reached his ears. Hearing Dennis near on beg for the australian not to hurt him made his heart sink somewhat. Made him feel like the youngster was almost iscared/i of him, even though he sincerely hoped this wasn't the case.

Sliding up and off of the bed the Sniper shakily stood up to properly face the Scouts horrific burns before staggering towards a small sink next to the bed, just looking at the blistered and charred skin made the old scars plastering his face tingle. iPoor bugger…/i  
Quickly Mick ran the tap and proceeded to run a soft medical pad under it, making sure it was thoroughly soaked with cool fresh water before sitting on a chair next to where Dennis was laying. "This'll cool ya d-down a bit...No doubt y'feel li-like ya still on fire eh? This shouldn't hurt too much..." Cautiously the sniper placed the wet medical pad against a section of the youngster's blistered skin, watching for any signs of him causing the kid too much pain. That really was the last thing he wanted to do to the kid right now.

After making sure that the pad was safely placed onto the younger mans skin with no danger of it sliding off Mick proceeded to squirt a thin trail of the slick ointment onto his calloused hands, silently praying that it wouldn't cause Dennis too much unecessary pain. The bushman's hand hovered dangerously close to the bostonian's skin, swallowing a little harder than was needed as he felt the sheer heat of his burns rising with the air vapor from his skin,  
"S-sit still, alright? This might sting a l-little...B-but just try bare with me ok, hero?" Truth was Mick knew it wouldn't just sting a little, it would no doubt sting a lot and given that the kid was already in agony the aussie really didn't want to add to it. But it had to be done. It just had to

As gently as he could manage, Mick's shaky hand gently came into contact with the bostonian's skin, biting the inside of his cheek as he felt the youngster shiver in pain underneath him.  
"S-steady kid, steady...Good lad..."  
The bushman's voice thick australian accent rumbled in his throat as he continued to rub in the dregs of what was left of the ointment onto Dennis' bubbling skin, clearing his throat lightly in an attempt to banish the feeling of nausea as he could almost feel the younger man's flesh screaming at him to stop. It was then that Mick tried to distract his lover with another one of his pointless stories.

"Yano kid, J-just because I lived out in the bush for...We-well a ilong/i time, don't mean I'm a total heavy handed brute...heh. Wasn't all about the k-killin' either. B-Before I got into game hunting and uh...head hunting as it were...I-I used ta work as a ranger in one of the outbacks r-reserves..."  
Micks eyes remained firmly planted on the Scouts burn wound as he continued.  
"Th-is one time, I found a wombat out o-on th'road, must'av fallen down a burrow or s-somat anyway it'd broken its leg. Nursed the little blighter b-back to full health..ngh..heh, goes ta show ya ca-can look like a hard bastard like myself but still be a gent..."

Briefly the bushman's fingers stopped moving, his hand now stationary against the younger man's burning skin as he looked into the bostonian's eyes, slight hints of sadness etched into his face.  
"I just...D-...Don't be scared of me hurtin' y-ya...Ever...A-alright? Just...J-just don't..."  
The cold pad felt relieving, yet unpleasant on his skin. The unpleasantness was probably by the touch, the fact something came into contact with the sensitive skin, but the cold water itself did wonders for the pain. Soon, however, pain would make itself well-known again. The youngster tensed up and clenched his teeth hard when he felt the touch of the older man, and although the ointment helped to mend the pain somewhat too it was pure torture to have Mick's hand run along his burning skin. Although Dennis didn't utter a word or a sound - at first - his eyes were shut and his face showed all the pain he felt. As if that wasn't enough, he couldn't breathe for a moment, and his muscles tensed so hard in fact he arched his back off the bed somewhat, before finally letting out a pained gasp for air as his hand grasped at the bed. He knew Mick was only doing good, but it felt like he was running a freaking piece of sandpaper over an open wound or something, the pain went far deeper than Dennis even would've thought.

Once he'd gotten over the first wave of pain, Dennis was able to relax - somewhat - against the bed, and with his eyes still closed he took a few quick breaths with his mouth, a light sweat beginning to break out in his forehead. He'd never wanted to shove Mick's hands away from his body so badly before, but now they really weren't welcomed. Still, the young scout did nothing to stop what was going on, because he knew it would be for the best, even if it didn't feel like it at the moment.  
Still panting, and occasionally moaning and groaning and clenching his fists and teeth, the young bostonian locked his eyes on the australian who was beginning to tell a story. Now, of all times. Fuck it if he didn't know when to shut up and when it was time for chit-chat. Then again, he kept Dennis mind briefly off the pain, even though the youngster was reminded of it soon after.

A hissing sound left the scout, but he was unable to hold a rather strong pained moan back as Mick's hand was really irritating his blistered skin. The young bostonian - who was by now feeling like he was having a fever, tensing up so much his muscles had begun to hurt - pressed his head down against the bed, successfully stretching his neck which just made it easier for any sound to escape. Mick wasn't going easy on him. Well, he probably was going as easy as he could, minding the youngsters comfort and all, but it felt like he was scrubbing the youngster intentionally with something rough and uncomfortable.

Suddenly the movement stopped though, and Dennis light blue eyes opened once again. They were directly pointed towards Mick, Dennis expression still somwehat pleading and almost helpless as he didn't know what to do of himself as he kept panting while the burning pain in his side didn't want to leave him alone. The stuttering words of the australian and the way he looked at the scout, made Dennis thoughts suddenly land somewhere else for a moment though, and he seemed to partly forget about the pain.  
"I-if I...w-was scared of you...you t-think I'd...let you d-do this? Huh? ...I...I'm not s-scared of you M-Mick...I kno-ow...you wont hurt me...I-I aint s-scared.."  
Dennis reached out a hand to gently grasp Mick's that was still resting on his side, and the youngster tried to give the man a more soft, assuring glance, although it was hard as his breaths were still somewhat hard and the sweat in his forehead obvious as the pain in his expression.  
Watching the younger man writhe and squirm against his touch really did no favors for Micks confidence of the subject of "being gentle" but he pressed onwards, making sure each part of his lovers skin was thoroughly doused in ointment all the while suppressing his own pain, -or trying-.  
Honestly the bushman felt he had it rough, really he did. Not only was it torture knowing that he was the current cause of the youngsters pain along with the seering pain of his own wounds, he was now looking at a very breathless, sweaty, incredibly attractive young man who for the last 5 minutes or so had been moaning unintentionally sexually at him. Right now Mick was at a complete loss, if there was a word to describe the jumble of emotions that he was currently feeling then fucked if he knew what that word was. He couldn't even begin to describe it.

Swallowing hard, the bushman nervously finished rubbing the last of the ointment into the youngsters blistering skin, all the while desperately trying to get a hold of himself and quell his growing lust for the kid,  
he was so distracted by how God damn sexy the kid both looked and sounded in fact that he barely heard the Scouts response to his previous plea not to be frightened of him and now Mick was in trouble if he didn't give a somewhat valid response back without looking like an absolute tit.  
The australian's body tensed at the situation, his eyes unlocking from Dennis and flicking around both the room and his body, iGod his body...He just wanted to climb on top of him an-/i  
"bNo!/b J-jesus christ!"

The bushman hopped up off of his chair, -an action which surprised even himself- both arms grasping at his slick hair and stared wide-eyed down at the now very confused looking Scout eyeballing him.  
If Mick's face hadn't been so tanned from the Australian sun he would have been absolutely bright red from embarrassment. What the fuck just happened!? What did he ido/i!? Oh god now he had to explain himself and his actions...Or atleast bullshit his way out of this horrific i-although no doubt highly amusing to anyone who may be watching/i- situation.  
iExplain or bullshit...Explain or bullshit...Explain or.../i

Bullshit.

Laughing nervously Mick let his injured arm drop back down by his side, gritting his teeth in agony behind a very large forced smile as he pointed to his injury with his good hand, silently praying that whatever gibberish about to come out of his mouth would atleast be isomewhat/i believable.  
"Oh heheh d-don't mind me I just... the old hole in th'shoulder acting up! You know how it is lad! Sometimes ya just have to shout out the pain! Nghh-Ahaha!...ioh dear god what the hell am I doing.../i"  
At this point Mick was beginning to sweat again, small beads of moisture forming along his head and neck, this had to be, without a doubt, the most unprofessional thing he had ever done in his entire life. The mental beating the bushman was currently handing to himself was worse than anything he could ever inflict on any BLU team members physically and he felt like he deserved it. iWhy why WHY could the australian not keep his feelings at bay!?/i

Mick stood up for a while longer, his previous actions wracking him with pain. Great, now he was of even less use. Slowly and all-be-it extremely awkwardly the bushman began to lower himself back down onto the little stool next to his Scout, clutching his arm as he did so. iWell Mick ya old bastard, you've really gone and made yourself look like a fucking drongo this time…/i  
"I th-think we need to wet that m-medi-pad again...g-get some more cool water on it yano?.."  
Too focused on trying to survive the pain, Dennis didn't notice the look on the older man's face, or how his eyes seemed to stick to the youngster like glue. There was simply no part of the Scout's brain that thought this was a good place in time to be getting sexual, and to Dennis it was obvious that Mick felt the same way no matter that they were both naked and so forth. To Dennis, the sounds he uttered were pure pain and nothing else, and he didn't exactly think Mick would see them as anything other than painful sounds so although he was moaning it wasn't the good kind of moan, so it shouldn't raise any thoughts about pleasurable indecency. It was probably good that the youngster didn't have it in his head to see any part of this sexual, since he didn't even realize that Mick seemed to be having a harder and harder time doing his job.

Suddenly Mick got up and buried his hands in his hair while giving away a loud 'No' that got Dennis to wince slightly as he stared up at the bushman. He met the snipers eyes, and though his mind was foggy Dennis began to try and understand what had just happened and what it was all about. Mick had been looking at him, constantly, and now he just jumped up and screamed no for no apparent reason? Was it that he'd found something on Dennis that looked even worse? Was the scar deeper and uglier than the youngster had first thought?  
No, apparently it had been Mick's shoulder acting up...  
Bullshit. Dennis didn't believe that story for a second, and all it did was raise more questions since the bushman was obviously lying. If his shoulder had been acting up on him, what was the damn 'No! Jesus Christ' for? And why had he used his hurt arm to grasp his hair, if it had been hurting so badly? It simply didn't make sense.

"Y-you're a terrible f-fuckin' liar, you kn-now that?" Dennis muttered up at the man who almost seemed nervous, obviously trying to cover up whatever it was that had just happened. It only made Dennis worried though, he wanted to know why Sniper had acted out like that and why he now didn't want to say what it was all about.  
"..I-is it...is the w-wound...worse?" Worry now took place on the pained youngsters face as he tried to sit up, but with a helpless whimper he fell back down, without being able to look himself over. Oh that was just wonderful. Clenching his teeth in both despair and anger when he thought about what horrific thing he had on his side - iforever scarred/i -, Dennis eyes locked on Mick again who had now sat down next to him once more.

The light blue eyes of the young bostonian searched for an answer in the Snipers eyes, in his expression, his face and even the way he now sat. Something was wrong, but what it was Scout couldn't figure out - iLuckily for him the bed was higher up than Mick's chair was, so he couldn't see anything below the man's stomach/i - and it was irritating his curious mind. But, Mick had ways of putting him on other thoughts as he suggested they'd wet the pad again. Dennis groaned at the thought. Even though the pad had been cooling he really didn't want anything or anyone to touch his side again for a while, he was so exhausted from the pain he felt like passing out.  
"N-no more now...alright? Please j-just...it hu-hurts too b-bad..."

Dennis pleaded with Mick to have some mercy on him, just let him be for a moment to get over the pain best he could. His eyes showed just what he wanted, which was to be allowed to rest for just a little while. However, Dennis felt bad about being allowed to lie down and take it easy while Mick was forced to sit up, so the little bostonian carefully moved himself to the other side of the rather thin bed. Luckily he didn't take up much space, so Mick would be able to fit beside him.  
"C-come on..." Dennis ordered without explanation, as he looked at Mick and made a small gesture with his hand to get him to lie down, almost having forgotten about the way the bushman had been looking at him earlier.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10 CANNOT BE POSTED ON THIS SITE, PLEASE CONTACT ME FOR THE LINK TO THE CHAPTER ON A DIFFERENT SITE


	11. Chapter 11

Holding his breath, the bushman slowly raised himself up and off of the bed, his eyes blurry from pain. As soon as he was up and reasonably steady on his legs -or as much as he could be- the Australian offered his hand out for Dennis to use as support, for a moment the older man considered picking up the Scout and taking them both to his room, it was the least he could do after the kid had cleaned him up and satisfied him...However Micks legs shook from the sheer thought of adding extra weight to the hunters frame so right now walking together would just have to do.

Now that both men were on their feet all that was left to do was to get to the Snipers room at the far corner of the corridor, thankfully not that far away from the medical bay although it seemed like a marathon no less. Mick stared down at the Bostonian as they began to walk, squeezing his had reassuringly and smiling warmly each time Dennis looked up at him.  
"Can't w-wait to get some shut eye...Could sleep f-for a million years..."

The corridor windows lit up with an almost blinding white light as a bomb exploded nearby, causing Mick to instinctively force Dennis behind his back and out of direct firing line of any shrapnel getting fired their way, it was only a few seconds later that the bushman remembered that they were safely behind the "war-proof glass" of the base and thus unable to be harmed by ammunition of any kind. The older man breathed out a steady sigh of relief as he regained his composure and smiled gently at the youngster he had tucked behind himself for protection. No words really needed to be said right now. In Mick's head the time for talking was when they would be both safely cuddled up in bed in some couple of minutes time. It could not come soon enough. Really it couldn't.

Dennis tried his best to help Mick up, without touching his side or ribcage too much in fear of causing more pain rather than being helpful. It was hard for him to even support himself when he got up, even harder to try and help the older, bigger and heavier man to stay on his two legs that probably were about to give way underneath him. The young bostonian clenched his teeth and sucked in air through his teeth to try his best at walking up straight, and not fall down on the floor and curl up in a ball like his body wanted to as the pain kept eating at him. He was sure he could feel his own pulse right in the area of the burnwound, like it was moving and throbbing. He denied himself to look and see if it was true.

Grabbing Mick's hand and holding on to it, the Scout made sure the australian was able to stand on his own, but he was ready to help should Mick's legs give up on him. Once more the young bostonian had tunnel vision. The only thing in his mind was to get them both back to a room, any room, and a bed where they could sleep. Nothing else mattered to him, and he kept telling himself that after this one last push he could finally rest, finally close his eyes and escape the pain for just a little while.

The youngster didn't realize it himself, but his hands refused to leave Mick's body. Though they were not holding on to him tightly, they were there ready to catch him if he began to fall. Granted, Dennis was in no shape to even TRY and lift that extra weight, but stubborn as he was he refused to accept that fact. If the bushman needed him he would be there, even if it in the end would mean that they ended up sleeping naked on the cold floor. The young Scout was not going to leave the older man's side, it was completely out of the question. He was so focused on his task, that his ears felt like they were filling up with cotton. This was why, when the Sniper spoke up, Dennis glanced up at him but his words didn't register. All the youngster could see was those smiling lips, moving in speech, followed by the sound of the older man's low, soothing voice. How he could even smile was a mystery to the youngster, who felt like he was in the worst place possible. Though he was happy about a number of things, all of their values were wiped out by the fact that the sharpshooter could end up dead by the next morning if they weren't careful. And even then, there was a chance this would be the last time Dennis would see him alive.

The thought was clearer to the Scout than anything he heard, even the explosion outside was just a low sound that didn't grab his attention. He squeezed Mick's hand, and it was first then that Dennis realized he'd been shoved to the side by Mick, who had attempted to shield him from something that couldn't even cause him harm. Well, not in there, anyway. With eyes that had begun to lose their light and their ability to see straight, Dennis looked up at Mick who was once more smiling. Life was slowly draining from both of them, and yet Mick who was worse off than the bostonian was showing so much life, but his actions seconds before also showed he wouldn't think twice about protecting Dennis even if it would cost him his life. This was concerning.

The youngster pulled his eyes off the older man, and pushed him forward to try and get him to walk again. Though, it wouldn't really be called a push, more of a nudge in the right direction. Dennis didn't like the fact that Mick could end up dead as soon as anyone or anything posed a threat to the young Scout. It would make the bushman's life at the base even more dangerous, he would be easily spotted and easy to shoot. Really, it would just be better if Dennis left, if he wasn't at the base so the Sniper could go on and do his job that he was excellent at. Right now, if they went out on the battlefield it would only be chaos. It was horriffic to think that if Dennis stayed close to the only one at the base who he actually gave a shit about, it would be a greater chance that the person he was trying hard to protect would end up worse off or even dead, if he stuck around. What was worse, was that it seemed Mick wouldn't let him go even if Dennis tried, and the youngster himself knew that if he was forced to see and be around the australian he wouldn't be able to stay away from him, despite his willpower.

"Come on, g-go already.." Dennis' voice was weak as he focused on the door by the far end of the corridor, pushing Mick forward with him. He could stand and stare at the gentle, smiling face for hours, because it made him feel safe somehow, but he knew deep down that the both of them were still in a very bad place and it wouldn't do just standing around.

Just one step more...and one more...one last step, almost there, and then they could sleep.

Finally, Dennis put his hand on the handle of the door and pushed it open. He was completely working on auto pilot now, they were so very close to gettin the peace and rest they needed, and although he was ready to collapse he pushed on, and near pulled Mick over to the bed. There was no way he would allow himself to trip on the finish line. With breathing uneaven and both shaky and quick, Dennis helped his older companion to lie down on the bed, and made sure to try and make it as painless as possible for Mick. He put a hand against the bed, feeling his head spinning as his last resources of energy were running out, and while leaning his weight on that arm and his weak legs the Scout gently pulled up the covers over Mick. He was almost standing leaned over him, and this of course caused their eyes to meet for just a moment. Dennis' eyes were shining with fatigue, stress, pain and unhappiness all combined. He wanted to be able to smile in support back at Mick, so assure him with a smile that everything was alright and that he didn't mind his own injury as long as Mick was fine. But he couldn't. There was not a single muscle in the youngsters face that could even attempt a smile. There was simply nothing to smile about.

Dennis groaned and growled as he straightened his back again, and made his way over to the other side of the bed. He couldn't leave Mick alone, he just couldn't. The fear that the older man would slip away in his sleep was too great for Dennis to be able to leave him. And what if Mick would need something? What if he injuried himself even worse or what if his bandages ended up soaked in blood and he needed them changed? What if his heart stopped, what if he stopped breathing, what if-...  
Dennis' legs gave up on him just as he was trying to climb on to the bed, and he fell down against it without being able to control how he landed. The softness of the bed was sharp and horriffic against his burned skin, but his attempt to scream only came out as a tight whimper. He was shaking, his heart was working hard to keep him alive and he was sure he had forgotten what it felt like to not be in pain. Dennis wriggled and made big efforts at turning himself over so he was lying on his side, though not the burnt side, and as the covers hurt him he decided to only let his hips and down be allowed the warmth.

The youngsters light blue eyes opened, and through the dark he stared right at his companion. He could see, and hear the older man breathe, see signs of life that greatly relieved him. Without a word, and not giving a shit about what Mick might think or what anyone finding them might think - though he was sure nobody would be waking them up early as it usually was, considering both teams would most likely be getting the rest they'd been robbed of during the night - , Dennis pushed his face against the warm body of the sniper. He was careful, but made sure he could feel the warm skin against his face, and searched for the older man's bigger hand with his own smaller ones.

Closing his eyes, Dennis listened to the soothing though distant sounds of Mick's breathing and his heartbeats. As long as he heard that, the bostonian would be able to sleep. He needed to hear it, to know Mick was alive and breathing, for it was the only thing that could soothe him and give him peace; knowing the bushman was alive.

The minute that the two men entered the bedroom felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of their shoulders, or atleast for Mick anyway. Just looking at the bed felt like he was looking at heaven. Being able to lay down on the bed, even more heaven. The bushman let out a long sign of relief as his battered body came into contact with the cool bed sheets, for a moment he felt himself drift into the unconciousness of sleep before snapping his amber eyes open to make sure that Dennis had gotten himself safely onto the bed also. The body looked completely spent, lacking any energy or any soul for that matter, Dennis looked like a lifeless puppet that had been dragged through the woods and thrown onto a fire -although Mick would never tell him that...not right now atleast- seeing the boy this way when he was known for being so full of life felt like a weight on Micks heart, the person he was looking at wasn't even close to a shadow of the Scouts former self.

Without any warning Dennis' body gave away and dropped onto the bedsheets, out of instinct the bushman shot up, propping himself up onto his elbows to try and help the youngster up, the familiar warmth of blood spreading itself across his skin underneath his bandages came as no surprise, Mick couldn't feel it. The older mans golden eyes glued themselves to the Bostonian in silent fear as he watched the younger mans silhouette drag himself into a more comfortable position on the bed.  
Mick's eyesight began to slip shut, with not enough energy to power his eyelids anymore the most he could hope for was to stay awake long enough to hear Dennis slip into a deep sleep. The feeling of the bostonians small frame seeking out his own larger one made the sharp shooter crack a small smile at the young mans need to be close, the feeling to be wanted, ineeded/i by someone...it felt alien to him.

Now that the two men were safe in bed and just about ready to slip into a coma it felt a lot more peaceful, to the Australian atleast. He stroked the back of youngsters hand with his fingers, replaying the past events in his head. Replaying how sad Dennis had looked since this all happened, being with him was meant to make the kid happy, this didn't seem the case. But if Mick was going to do one thing to make the Scout feel calm and relaxed on this horrific night this would be it, and it would be his last shot before he himself slipped away into unconciousness.

iGive me a home among the gum trees,  
With lots of plum trees,  
A sheep or two, a kangaroo.  
A clothesline out the back,  
Veranda out the front  
And an old rocking chair.

You can see me in the kitchen  
Cooking up a roast,  
Or vegemite on toast,  
Just you and me, a cup of tea.  
Later on, we'll settle down,  
And mull up on the porch  
And watch the possums play./i

Mick's voice was quiet, low and soft as he began to sing to the youngster who was curled up next to him. Mick focused on the sound of the Scouts breathing, taking solace in hearing it calm down and regulate. The bushman continued to sing his song;

iThere's a Safeway on the corner  
And a Woolworths down the street,  
And a New World's just been opened  
Where they regulate the heat,  
But I'd trade them all tomorrow  
For the simple bush retreat  
Where the kookaburras call.

Some people like their houses  
With fences all around,  
Others live in mansions,  
And some beneath the ground,  
But me, I like the bush, you know,  
With rabbits running round  
And a pumpkin vine out the back/i

He had no idea how long he had been singing the same song over and over, no doubt if Dennis had still been awake he would have learned all the words off by heart. But the youngster had said nothing, not moved, breathing had stayed relatively the same save the occassional hitch from the pain biting at his unconcious. At this point the hunters song had become more of a slurred mass of what we loosly refer to as "words", anyone would think him to be pissed drunk. As all sense left the sharp shooters body the final dregs of thought passed through his brain i Dennis...Medic...Blood...Dennis...Dennis.../i

And then. Darkness.

Dennis was falling into unconsciousness, finally allowing himself to do so now that he knew he'd done everything he could to help Mick and make sure he was in a good place. They were safe now, well, safer at least and the bushmans wounds and urges had been tended to. They had made up after their fight, and if it wasn't for the injuries the both of them had suffered this would be a very pleasant position they were in. But, the feeling of Mick's naked body close to his own didn't cause Dennis' heart to flutter, or butterflies to dance in his stomach, or even arouse him. It just gave a feeling of security, to have the older man so close, to hear him breathe and breathe in his scent with every breath the young bostonian took. The bed smelled just like Mick, the room as well, and Mick of course was the source of that scent that seemed to work like a calming drug. Honestly the scout found it hard to believe how he could ever have been able to sleep in his own bed, because he couldn't imagine himself doing it now. He simply needed to be by Mick's side, needed to hear and feel and scent him. Maybe it was because he was tired, or maybe it was because he was in so much pain he had trouble keeping his thoughts straight, that Dennis confessed all these things to himself in his head and allowed himself to even think such thoughts of the australian.

Mick's voice was so far away, but yet Dennis could hear it, as well as a faint melody the bushman's words followed. Was he seriously...singing? The young bostonian could feel his companions fingers gently touching the back of his hand, stroking it as if he was trying to give him comfort while the low, soothing voice of the australian kept singing. Dennis wanted to tell him to shut up, to save his strength and stop killing himself slowly by wasting energy. But Dennis couldn't speak, he could barely keep his eyes open anymore. A faint sqeeze of Mick's hand was all he could accomplish, before he felt himself slipping off into unconsciousness. Oh well, let the man sing...  
One last thought passed through his mind, before it all went dark.  
iJust don't die on me./i

When Dennis opened his eyes again the sun was already up. It was quiet, in the room as well as outside. The whole base seemed like it was empty, no sounds of steps or coughs or voices talking even though it was late. Well, late by their standars. Usually the men were woken up at roughly 6-7 am to get ready for the day, then they could either sit around and wait for an attack or cause some mayhem themselves, if they felt lucky. Now it was almost 11 am, and still Dennis didn't feel well rested. But he'd gotten enough sleep for his body to be able to handle him being awake for a little while, plus sleeping wasn't the only way to recharge batteries. His stomach felt like it consisted of a giant void, there was nothing in there for his body to turn into energy. He needed to eat, they both did.

Still feeling like shit, the youngster looked up at the face of the sharpshooter sleeping by his side. He found their hands were still holding on to each other, and the youngster could still feel every breath and every heartbeat of Mick, as their bodies were closely touching. It took a few minutes for the youngster to remember and piece together their journey to the med bay and from there to the room they were in, before he remembered everything they had went though. With a sigh he closed his eyes. All that shit, and it had all been his fault.

He stared at the sleeping bushmans face, seeing how he breathed and swallowed automatically in his sleep. Signs of life. He was warm still, and pretty much the only source of heat Dennis had got during the night as his upper body hadn't been allowed the covers.

Slowly an carefully Dennis slipped his hands out of Mick's, moving carefully in the bed. He wasn't in too much pain at the time, but once he started to move his side was giving him a great amout of grief. It wasn't burning hot anymore, and the ointment Mick had helped him apply was probably to thank for that, but it still hurt.

Staying in bed wasn't an option, even if he wanted to see to it that Mick would wake up. He had survived the night, so he should be able - he must be - to survive a few hours more until the medic had time to take care of him. If the doctor was still alive...The thought caused Dennis to tense, what if the medic had died? What if in their newly awoken state the guys had been less protective of him and maybe he hadn't looked out for enemies well enough, maybe he was gone? Usually the rest of the team protected their doctor more than they protected each other, because of the simple fact that the crazy german was what and who would and could keep them alive if - more like when - they got injured. But maybe this time the doctor hadn't survived and was dead, because of Dennis...and if Mick didn't get any real medical aid maybe he would die too, because of-...  
Dennis closed his eyes tightly and got up off the bed, quickly and without even wincing at the pain. He couldn't think like that, of course Mick would survive! There was no way the australian would die on him, it was simply not possible.

As the scout tried his legs he found that the sleep had done him some good after all. He wasn't shaking, and his steps were secure and balanced. He was still hurting but it was a lot less pain to deal with than it had been during the night. Still, he refused to let himself look at the burn. He didn't want to see it.

Pondering about what to do now that he was up and able to walk properly again, a chilling thought struck the youngster. The towels, they were still in the medical bay, covered in blood and...something else, that undoubtedly would awake suspicion.  
Fuck, the towels, they needed to get the towels out of the way! What if they had already been detected? The only ones not out on the battlefield the night before had been Scout and Sniper, if two towels with blood and...other bodily fluids was found in the medical bay - along with their clothes scattered all around the shower room - it wouldn't take a genius to realize that the clothes, the towels, the blood iand/i the jizz belonged to either of the two. It would not look good, not good at all.

"Ah fuck" Dennis cursed under his breath, his eyebrows lowered in irritation but also worry. He really didn't want anyone to find that towel. Throwing a glance at the still sleeping bushman, Dennis decided he wasn't going to wake him up. The man needed his sleep, he needed to stay still as much as possible until he could get some real help. So, it was up to Dennis to clean up their - well, originally it was his - mess. He couldn't do it naked, though. So, since he didn't have his own clothes in Mick's room he opened the australians closet and pulled out one of his red shirts. He put it on, and found it was much too big. Lucky for him it reached down beneath his butt and covered his genitals perfectly too. Even if it would look odd seeing the scout running around in the sharpshooters shirt - naked -, Dennis preferred to be seen like that than be seen completely naked running around the base. He only needed it for the short trip to his own room, though.

Partly dressed and with growing worry and determination Dennis gave Mick one last glance before he exited the room. He knew it wasn't a polite thing to do to leave someones bed like that before the person had woken up, and he also knew that if Mick woke up while he was gone the bushman might think Dennis had regretted anything that had happened the night before, and simply left him. The youngster wasn't planning on being gone for too long, and he was hoping the older man would be out cold for a while longer. The worst that could happen was that Mick did wake up, saw Dennis wasn't there and went to look for him in all his naked glory, stumbling around like a newborn calf and dragging attention to himself. No, that needed to be prevented at all cost. Dennis would make a quick trip to the medical bay after getting dressed, he'd grab the towels and hurry to the showers where he'd clean up a bit too and put the towels with the rest of the dirty towels, blending them so it wouldn't look quite as suspicios and maybe nobody would even notice the semen on one of them. But, if they did, they wouldn't be able to point a finger at anyone.

Dennis looked around in the corridor and listened for sounds of anyone walking or being on their way out of their room. But, he heard nothing. So, barefoot and with only a far too big red shirt to cover his body, he hurried back to his room best he could. Once he reached his door and got inside, the youngster could feel his heart working on overdrive to keep up with him, even though he hadn't run very fast. It was obvious he didn't have much energy to spare even though he'd been sleeping for a long time. The fact he'd barely eaten anything in the past 24 hours was most likely a factor. But as long as he wasn't about to drop, there would be nothing stopping Dennis from hurrying around the base with the mission in mind to cover his and Mick's tracks.

The bostonian pulled off the bushman's shirt and dropped it on his bed, only to get dressed in his own clothes which actually fit. It was unpleasant to wear a shirt and have the fabric rub against his injured skin, but the scout refused to walk around without a shirt on, showing off the horror that was his torso. No thank you, he preferred to keep it hidden even if it hurt him more to do so.

Now dressed, Dennis slipped out of his room and headed for the medical bay. He was afraid the doctor would be there, and that he would have found the towels, on the other hand the doctor being there would be great because then Dennis could get him to give Mick the aid he needed. But as the youngster slowly pushed the door to the med bay open and stuck in his head, there was silence and emptyness. Nobody was there, not even the german's cooky birds. It was like the entire place was a ghost town. iMaybe there was nobody left, but Mick and Dennis.../i  
No, that couldn't be. The teams had had many vicious fights, but, not one where the entire team dropped, it wasn't possible.

Dennis quickly found the towels, and grabbed them both. His eyes faintly glanced over at the bed the towels had been lying next to, and he was swiftly reminded on just what had happened there. iBy God what had he even done.../i  
Looking away, Dennis cleared his throat, almost as if someone else had been there and asked him about the bed, like he was trying to get away from the subject or felt embarrassed. Well, he was feeling something, exactly what he wasn't sure. Maybe he was a bit embarrassed, a bit ashamed, but the thought also brought out a warm feeling that quickly filled up his chest, and the warmth worked it's way up to his cheeks when he relived those moments he could remember so clearly. The groans and gasps Mick had uttered, his large hand squeezing Dennis while urging him on to continue, to go faster. The feeling of the older mans body tensing, shuddering and damn near convulsing because of the youngsters touch that brought him so much pleasure it seemed unreal. The sweat beading his face...  
No, that was quite enough of that.  
He shook his head to get the images out, and turned his back on the bed as he moved to exit the medical bay.

The next stop was the showers, that looked just as untouched and unvisited as the medical bay. Where were everybody? Dead? No, they couldn't be, if that was the case the BLU would've won and stormed the base to get anything and everything they could from the beaten team. The rest of the REDs were probably around, somewhere.

The scout looked around the shower room, noticing sewage shit and his and Mick's dirty clothes scattered around on the floor. It looked a mess, and although there was a harmless explanation to it all, Dennis really preferred removing his and Mick's clothes from the scene. He put the dirty towels with the others, and threw his and the bushman's clothes in the wash as well, except for his own shirt which had been burned to shit anyway.

With a sigh of relief the youngster exited the showers, and upon deciding whether or not to go back to Mick's room to check up on him, he felt hunger tare at his stomach so viciously it made him want to lean forward and wrap his arms around himself. Food first, then Mick. He could probably make breakfast for the sharpshooter as well, instead of forcing him to get out of bed, get dressed and drag his ass down to the kitchen. It would be best if Mick stayed in his bed for most of the day, until the medic had got to take a look at him and treated his wounds appropriately. So, breakfast it was.

In the kitchen, Dennis heard the first sign that his teammates were still alive. He could hear steps while he was trying to figure out how the coffeemaker worked - because, he knew Mick enjoyed coffee, however he had no idea how to make it -, and soon enough he wasn't alone in the kitchen anymore. For a second the scout had worried it was his older companion who had come to look for him, and the thought itself caused him to grow irritated. But when he turned around, it wasn't Mick who was standing there. It was the soldier, who looked more pissed than usual, and he had the demoman by his side. They both had taken quite a few hits out on the battlefield, that was obvious, but they were able to stand walk and talk just fine which meant they weren't in as bad of a state as Mick was. But the fact nobody else was seen around, did not bode well.

Quickly Dennis realized the older men were not there to get breakfast or early lunch, they had spotted him on his way down to the kitchen and followed him. What did they want from the young bostonian? Well, that became quite clear when a clenched fist hit his face with such force he fell backwards against the counter. His ears were ringing, the soldier's large hand had a lot more power in it than Dennis ever could put into a punch. He was grabbed by the collar of his shirt, and yelled right in the face by the furious helmetwearer, who blamed everything on Dennis. The youngster glared back up at him, teeth clenched and eyebrows lowered in defiance as he tried to wriggle his way out of the tight grip, with no success. He knew it was his fault. He KNEW he was to blame for everything that had happened, but it still angered him so greatly when he was blamed for it all, reminded that he was a fuck up who'd set many peoples lives in danger.

The "payback" was short, probably far shorter and less violent than any of the older men wanted it to be. But they knew just as well as Dennis that injuring each other especially now when the team was already crippled and had taken a big blow, was not the thing to do. When Dennis was left on the floor of the kitchen, he was left with a bloody nose and a black eye, along with the knowledge that a man had died because of his little midnight adventure. The guilt was wrecking him, the knowledge that he had indirectly killed one of his teammembers, one innocent man who had never done the youngster any harm taring him apart. He hadn't thought he'd feel guilty the day before, hadn't believed he'd ever feel remorse for his actions. But now, it hit him with such force that he really didn't know what to do with himself. He should've been the only one to die, it was obvious the team would be better off without him. Everyone would be, even Mick, no matte how much the bushman might want to bark against him on that fact.

Alone again, Dennis got upp off the floor. He wiped away the blood from his nose, detesting the taste of it as the stream of blood had reached his lips. Quietly, and though his face felt like it had been broken, Dennis continued to make breakfast for the sleeping sharpshooter, who hopefully hadn't noticed he was gone yet. He made a cup of coffee, hopeful it tasted good, and he also put together a breakfast sandwich with cheese, ham, a few slices of cucumber and some salad. He wasn't sure if it would be to the bushmans taste, but he'd have to eat it anyway. He needed to eat.

Finding a small tray, Dennis put the plate with the sandwich and the cup of coffee on it, and grabbed a big red apple from the fruit bowl for himself. He wasn't hungry anymore, in fact he felt like puking, but he knew he needed to eat as well. An apple would have to do.

He quetly walked back to Mick's room with a face of stone, a face that hurt quite badly. His nose had become swollen, just like his eye that also already showed signs of bruising. But maybe Mick wouldn't notice.  
A small drop of blood left his upper lip and dripped down on the tray, as Dennis opened the door to Mick's room.

The past events flew around Micks head, drowning any chance for a sound nights sleep. Images of war, blood, death, the screams of his comrades as well as his enemies. Dennis. Nightmare after nightmare involving the young Scout plagued the bushmans mind, every scenario ending in the same outcome of Mick being alone. This was simply a thought he could not bare to stomach, but why? For as long as he could remember the Sniper had been an aloof, laid back loner who much prefered his time alone rather than being in the company of others. However the man was a hunter, a born survivor whos instinct and ability to adapt to a situation made him the best of the best. Mick was in short, a murderous, violent, sly, calculating hit man slash assassin who took immense pleasure out of seeing the light of life fade from the eyes of men, women and children by his hand alone.

The first day he and Dennis met was quite hard to remember, mainly because the Sniper didn't openly introduce himself rather than leaving it up to his other team members to discover him and introduce themselves first. On first meeting one another neither Dennis nor Mick felt any perticular bond to one another, they weren't enemies, they weren't close, they were just...Well...iThere/i. Two people who had two entirely different roles within the team and who had pretty much zero contact with one another out on the battlefield. So what exactly happened in between meeting and now that forged such a strong bond? Honestly Mick wasn't sure himself, there could have been numerous reasons why the youngster and himself had become closer. The mutual respect perhaps? Or perhaps the friendship sparked over the occasions that both he and the Scout used their forks to flick various veggies at the Soldiers helmet whilst trying not to get caught at dinner times. Regardless of what had happened in the past it was the present that Mick cared most about, he had sworn to protect Dennis no matter what and these recurring dreams of the Snipers impending loneliness only made the bushmans resolve stronger.

Deep from within the confines of his subconcious Mick began to hear noise, stirrings of the outside world that began to disperse the horrifc nightmares that were currently warping his psyche. The familiar sting of pain greeted the sharp shooters body good morning. The hunters eyes wearily opened, squeezing shut again as his pupils strained themselves against the harsh light of day. After taking a few seconds to properly compose himself, Mick instinctively reached out to caress the young Scout that had spent the night with him only to find that he was alone in his bed. Mortified, the Australian bolted into the upright position, his mind racing frantically with panic so strong he thought he would vomit. After what felt like major heart attack, Micks eyes clocked the fragile figure of the Scout -ihis Scout/i- entering the bedroom holding a tray of sandwiches and coffee. iGod damn that coffee smelt delicious/i.

The Snipers amber eyes glued themselves to the Bostonians small frame as he closed the door to the room and placed the tray onto the older mans lap. Reluctantly Mick's eyes broke away from his young lover to look down at the bounty that lay before him, it looked wonderful. Without saying a word -ihis own way of scolding the youngster for getting him breakfast in his state/i- the sharp shooter scooped up one of the sandwiches and revealed his pearly white teeth to take a bite. The bite however, never came.

Blood. A single droplet of it to be precise, lay in a small splattered pattern on the plastic tray, previously hidden from sight by the sandwich. Mick's eyes stared down at the crimson droplet and then to Dennis' face which had previously been hidden out of proper sight. The Australians face was blank with pure rage as he stared with glazed eyes at the bostonians bloodied and bruised features. iHow fucking dare they mark bmy/b boy/i.  
In all the time that Mick had worked with RED he had come to known each team mates traits and personalities and there was only one person on the team that would actively go out of his way to harm one of his own team members as punishment for a failed mission.

iThat filthy yank cunt/i

Without saying a word to his battered lover the Sniper gently placed the breakfast offering onto his bed, stood up and put on his pants and a shirt, buttoning it up enough to hide the bandages on his chest and walked out into the corridor in the direction of the mess hall. If Dennis had said anything whilst getting up and walking out was unknown to the Aussie, right now he couldn't hear a thing, couldn't take anything in, pure rage hung over the sharp shooter like a pitch black storm cloud that was begging to rain its fury down on the bastard he knew was responsible for harming the Scout. There was no pain, no feeling at all, just immense anger.

Unaware of if Dennis was following him Mick soon found his way to the mess hall where -just as he expected- the Soldier and Demoman were sat chatting to one another. The Soldier had barely made eye contact with the Australian when a fist connected directly with the Americans face, knocking him clean off of the chair and onto the floor. The Soldier although shocked and cradling a now broken jaw screamed in fury and lunged at the taller man like a wild animal, unleashing a barrage of punches to the hunters ribs, chest, arms and face, anywhere he could land a punch the Soldier did, and with rapid succession.

iStill no pain/i.

Eventually Mick managed to successfully knee the American bastard off of his body and wiped away a small stream of blood trickling down his mouth. The two men were now stood up, eyeing each other up with deadly intent, there had been pleanty of small fights within the group over the years but nothing ever on this scale. Mick wasn't out to hurt the Soldier. He was out to ikill/i him. Cautiously, the bushman stepped backwards towards the kitchen counter, his hands down by his side, his expression unreadable.

"So..." he began, voice dangerously low, "...you like beating up members of our group when they've done nothin' wrong, eh?" His back was now up against the side of the kitchen counter,  
"You like seeing the blood, the fear, as you beat them senseless? Hm? You can't stand the sight of their iungrateful, honourless faces/i...So you take a fist to em instead, ye?" Without breaking eye contact with the furious American, Mick calmly grasped the handle of the coffee holder that sat underneath the dispenser itself, swirling the steaming hot liquid as he spoke once more.  
"If you've got a problem with the way our Scout looks...so much so that ya feel ya need to change it by hitting him...bTHEN MAYBE YOU SHOULDN'T LOOK AT ANYONE ANYMORE!/b"  
In one fluid motion Mick charged at the Soldier, launching the scolding hot coffee holder at the Americans face and smiling wickedly as the boiling liquid came into contact with the mans skin, melting the sinews of his eyes and facial muscles. The rocket jumper screamed and dropped to the ground, clutching at his scolded face. Defeated. The man would be lucky if he ever saw the light of day again.

For a moment everything was quiet, still, even peaceful. Until. Pain. Mick's eyes widened as excrutiating agony wracked his body, hot blood seeping through his hidden bandages. His ribs crackled and crunched with each pained breath, his shoulder felt as if it was being lanced with a white hot blade and his chest burned with intense heat. The Australian could do nothing but fall to his knees in agonising silence, hoping what he had just done was worth it.

Dennis noticed Mick was awake, sat in the bed as he entered the room. Good, at least he was still in the bed and hadn't gone out on some crazed mission to find the youngster like a frantic mom who'd left her kid out of her sight for five minutes and thought only the worst had happened. The scout tried to hide his face as he placed the tray in Mick's lap, mumbling out that he thought the bushman needed some food, but he also told him not to get used to getting breakfast on the bed. Dennis was most certainly inot/i that kind of guy. He'd done it now because the sharpshooter really needed to stay in bed.

He didn't get an answer, barely even a glance from Mick he noticed. Maybe he was so focused on the food that he forgt how to say "Thank you" or "How nice of you". Yeah, polite really wasn't something the bushman was. Prick.

Dennis didn't let the ungratefulness Mick showed get him down though, and just swiftly grabbed his apple from the tray and took a loud bite. He was hungry, he could feel his body urging him to eat more and quicker, but his stomach was still refusing the food. To ensure he kept his face as hidden as possible, Dennis moved to sit on the other side of the bed with his back towards Mick, looking out the window. But just as he passed by the short end of the bed, the older man put the tray to the side and got up out of the bed. The young bostonian turned around and looked at him with genuine surprise. What the hell? Wasn't he going to eat? He hadn't even taken a bite of the sandwich and he was already refusing the food Dennis had worked hard to get to him?

The scout took another loud bite of his apple and glared at the australian getting dressed. Fine, he didn't have to eat it if it looked that fucking horrible. It was the last damn time Dennis ever did anything for him. But, even though hearing it straight out would piss Dennis off more, he did want a clear explanation of this behaviour. But nothing came, and as Mick reached for the doorhandle without saying a word or even glancing at him, the scout got a bit concerned. What was up with him? Why was Mick acting so strange?

Dennis sniffled, blood still pouring from his nose he noticed. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, and as he noticed the blood on the tray, right next to the sandwich Mick had been about to take a bite from, something clicked in his mind. Had Mick seen the blood? Had he noticed the black eye and the bleeding nose? Wait, if that was the case...where the hell was he going?

A cold chill went down Dennis' spine as he threw the rest of his apple across the room, hitting the garbage can, and then ran out the room after Mick. Whatever the man was up to, it wasn't anything good. It was bad enough he was up walking with his injuries, but if he'd seen Dennis injuries and wanted revenge...things would get so much worse.  
"Mick! Hey, Mick!"  
Dennis shouted as he saw the older man further dwn the corridor. He was walking perfectly, almost robotically, like he wasn't human, like he was programmed to walk and never stop until he reached his destination.  
"Stop, Mick! Get back in your freaking room, you're not supposed to walk around!"

Mick didn't stop, and before Dennis was able to catch up with him - still having trouble even walking, running after Mick was almost impossible and he could barely keep up - the older man had reached the kitchen, where Demoman and Soldier were seated. Dennis stopped dead in his tracks. Just looking at the Soldier made his face hurt even more. He knew the mad man probably wanted to throw a few more punches, and if Dennis got over there with Mick it would seem like he had ratted the Soldier and the demoman out to their sniper, and how would that look?  
Hiding behind a corner, Dennis hoped and prayed that Mick wasnt doing what he seemed to be doing, hoping that he was just loking for some sugar or milk for his coffee or something. But no, he was out for blood.

iGoddamn idiot!/i

The bostonian felt like shouting to him to stop, to run over there and stop him before he made things worse than they already were. Not only was the sniper so hurt he should be in bed for at least another day, he was also making deadly enemies for himself within his own team with the way he was now throwing punches at the Soldier, who wasn't late with countering.  
As Dennis watched the fight, his hands clenched into fists, and he watched in horror as Mick did everything he shouldn't be doing. Dennis was mostly concerned for Mick's wellbeing, worried the big, bloodthirsty american would get in a good hit on him that could possibly be deadly for Mick in his already beaten up state. But, there was also the concern that Mick showing he supported the one teammember who had started the whole war that had gone on during the night, that had cost the life of their dear engineer, the ret of the team were undoubtedly going to dislike the bushman as much as they disliked the bostonian. Neither of them would be welcomed in their own team, they would be despised and hated, and Mick's chances of survival would become extremely slim.  
All. Because. Of. Dennis.

When the boiling hot coffee was thrown, and the Soldiers piercing scream rang loud in the entire base, Dennis was unable to keep his legs from moving as he watched Mick fall to his knees. He ran over to the sharpshooter, placing well deserved slap right across his face before viciously grabbing his collar.  
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?" He roared in the australians face, throwing a quick glance over at the Soldier who had the demoman by his side. Dennis knew the demoman was a sorry excuse of a man, a drunk who liked to make things explode, but he at least was smart eough to know beating up teammembers was not good, and should be kept to a minimum. So, for the moment the scout was safe from further assaults, as was Mick.

Dennis stared back down at Mick who was still on his knees. He wanted to help him up, but since both the snipers shoulder and torso were hurt it was hard to grab ahold of him. Mick would have to get up on his own.  
"You fucking idiot, do you realize what you've done?" He hissed, his face close to Mick's as his eyes pierced the older man's, showing stress and a storm of all kinds of different feelings. Mick was a bloody idiot for what he'd done, for getting himself in a position where he got even more hurt than he already was, for starting a vicious fight with a teammate and possibly blinding him just because Dennis's had gotten a well-deserved punch.

"He had a reason to hit me, Mick. It was my fault. MY fault. Our engineer is dead, you get it? DEAD. He died because off ME and he aint never coming back!"  
Dennis' voice was low, spitting out the words as he stared into Mick's eyes. The Soldier and the Engineer had been good friends, they had looked out for each other and spent a lot of time together, so that the clever texan was dead because of Dennis was a good enough reason for the Soldier to be pissed.

While Dennis' eyes and voice showed so much anger and frustration by Mick's actions, there was also a feeling of...gratefulness. Nobody had stood up for him like that before. Nobody had gone so out of their way to take revenge for Dennis, even when Dennis was the one who was and had been in the wrong. Mindless violence, pointless violence, because of personal emotions. It showed the passion Mick had for him, and although Dennis hated that Mick was constantly getting himself into shit because of him, it was also flattering and heartwarming - as well as heartbreaking - to know the youngster mattered that much for Mick.

Dennis lookd back at the Soldier and demoman, and told the explosionexpert to go get the medic, if he was available. He got a look from the older man that he couldn't quite read. There wasn't hate in his eyes, but no signs of trust either. He listened however, and left the groaning Soldier on the floor. Once Dennis had seen him leave, he turned back to Mick and glanced over his face with still upset eyes.

"I hate you." His voice wavered as he said it, the sentence obviously not true. What he hated wasn't Mick, he hated that all this happened because of their relationship. He hated that they couldn't be happy, that what made them unhappy - staying apart - was what would be best for them both. He hated the situation they were in.  
To contradict his harsh words, Dennis reached down to kiss Mick, his lips parting as they touched the busman's and slipping his tongue into his mouth. The kiss was short, however, and the bostonian soon pulled away. He didn't have to worry about the Soldier seeing it all,since the man probably wasnt able to see anything at all at that time.

Dennis knew this all would rise suspicion. Why would Mick defend the one person in the team who fucked everything up? The one who tore the team apart? WHY would he support him, if there was nothing going on? there was no reason, no reason at all. If Mick didn't learn to keep his feelings at bay, it would sooner than later be clear as day to the rest of the men that their relationship wasn't "just teammates".

"It don't solve noting when you do shit like this"  
Dennis' voice was lower, more whispering so nobody else would hear. He tried to keep the hostility out of his voice, which wasn't too hard anymore as his heart was breaking rather than causing him to see red.  
"I need you alive you idiot, you can't go beat people up just because they don't like me."  
Truth was, if that was the way Mick was going to act, a lot of people would end up dead or badly beaten by the australian's hand, and then he'd eventually have the cops on his ass for mass murder. Ever since Dennis could remember he'd been painfully honest with people, telling them exactly what he thought and felt no matter if they liked to hear it or not. This cause a lot of fights, when people didn't want to listen to his opinios about them and their friends, and that was the only way Dennis knew how to deal with things. He would without a doubt get himself into that kind of trouble again and again, and he didn't want Mick to run after like his back up to beat the men who treated Dennis badly worse than they deserved.

Up until the demoman returned with the medic - who looked quite tired and worn out, he had probably not slept a lot since he'd had to treat the rest of the teams wounds after the fight - Dennis held on to Mick's collar for dear life, worried and afraid that the man would fall down against the ground and never wake up again if he let him go. Had he truly hated Mick, he wouldn't have stayed with him to see to it that he got the help from the medic that he needed.

iI hate you/i

The words echoed in Micks head. The world had gone black, empty.  
iI don't understand./i  
The bushman's eyes glazed over, whatever Dennis had said after that had gone completely unnoticed, all words had become incomprehensible, all life in the room had become none existent.  
iI've done nothing wrong./i  
He couldn't help but constantly replay the three words in his head. I. Hate. You. After all he had done to keep Dennis safe, all he had sacrificed, all he had put at stake. For nothing. Why?

Mick groaned in pain, the horrific words the bostonian had said magnifying the older mans pain. It was indescribable. The next thing he knew it all senses had completely faded. No sight. No sound. No smell. No ground beneath him.  
The Australian had gone into full auto pilot. His bloodied body becoming limp. The only thing he was now able to do was to just breathe, just survive. And he didn't even want that. Right now, all Mick wished was death upon himself.

Mick slipped out of consciousness, once again plagued by nightmares that he couldn't escape. Visual representations of Dennis' poisonous words biting at the snipers soul, tearing him apart piece by piece. No matter how hard he tried to run away, hide, fight, the nightmare followed him, mocked him. He was a bloody assassin! A cold hearted killer, a murderer, not some snotty little gremlins play thing. In Mick's mind, he had given the scout everything, given him his heart and soul only for Dennis to exploit it and throw him away at the slightest hint of things not going his way. Spoiled little shit. Well no more. Things would be different when he woke up, no more pushover, no more patience with lost causes. He would apologize to the soldier, explain himself fully and then continue working for RED as he always had, erasing any previous notions of the two men ever being that close again.

After what felt like an eternity of darkness the sharp shooters consciousness began to be overtaken by a pure white light. The light grew stronger and brighter with every breath the man took until eventually he came to his senses...to an extent. Micks eyes flickered open, dazed, trying to piece together where he was.  
iBleachy smell...White walls...doves...I'm in the med bay.../i

iThe sooner things get back to normal the better.../i


	12. Chapter 12

As Mick lost conciousness the medic was luckily there to take care of the two men who for no reason had knocked each other out. Since the doctor couldn't pull both of the injured back to the med bay, Dennis and the demoman had to help. When they were dragging Mick off to the med bay it felt like the young scout was the only one who was trying to be careful, trying not to cause more harm than had already been done to the bushman. He followed all the way to the med bay, and watched every move the medic made when he began tending to Micks injuries. He removed the bandages and took a look at the open wounds, as well as felt around on the australians body to see if any more bones had been broken or shattered. Dennis couldn't bare to watch as the doctor made his careless examination, even if Mick was unconscious there was still a fear that he might awake to the pains Medic was causing him.

Instead of sticking around while the medic was treating Mick as well as Soldier, Dennis went to clean up the blood from his nose and stop the small bleeding it was still doing with a piece of paper that he put in his nose. He also headed back to Micks room, heart heavy and filled with a cocktail of mostly negative feelings. This wouldnt work, they couldn't go on like this. Mick was a danger to himself, and Dennis couldnt bare losing him and especially not live with the fact he was the cause of Micks early death. They were a match made in hell, yet it seemed they simply couldn't live without each other. Couldnt work as a couple, couldnt stay away from each other. It was hell. And Dennis knew that every kiss and every touch he had so stupidly allowed, only brought them closer to each other and made it harder to let go.

i What was he even thinking? /i  
Was he seriously admitting to himself that he felt stuck with Mick, that their emotional bond was so strong he couldnt let it die no matter how badly he wanted to? How could he even consider being with that man, he was twice Dennis age! Filthy and homeless, rude and inconsiderate, obsessive and, and...and so damn loveable it drove Dennis mad. Mick was an idiotic ass but he was the best damn man the kid had ever known. He always overreacted! Yet he only acted with the passion of what he truly believed was right. But he just got himself injured all the time which caused Dennis a lot of stress and pain as well! ..But he only got injured for Dennis sake, to protect him and stand up for him, because he truly cared for the kid...

Dennis grit his teeth. He wanted to go underground and never come out again. But Mick needed him, and he needed Mick. He needed him alive and well.  
Dennis put on his cap that he had left in Micks room the day before. He put his earpiece around his neck and picked up the tray off the bed. He wasnt done being pissed - yet strangely flattered - at the australian for his actions, but Mick needed to eat. So for a second time Dennis brought his older teammate his breakfast. The medic had left Mick to rest while he worked on helping Soldier, so Dennis was left alone with the unconscious sharpshooter.

Putting the tray down close to the bed, Dennis sat down and locked his eyes on Mick. The man was even more bruised than before, he barely looked alive. But suddenly, after sitting there for god knows how long, Micks eyes suddenly opened. Dennis was relieved, so incredibly relieved. Yet he couldnt smile to show it.  
"Time to wake up now huh? Took you a while." It was hard to determine the tone in his voice.  
"...thought you might want to eat something, so I brought you breakfast...again. You gonna refuse it like before or are you gonna eat already?"

Mick's Amber eyes soullessly stared at Dennis. The professional in him was back, none of this lovey dovey shit that he'd previously gotten himself into. Truthfully the older man was absolutely heart broken. Who wouldn't be knowing the person you love hate you? The sadness that the Australian was feeling right now however was being converted into anger, betrayal, a fact that showed itself quite freely on Mick's face. The bushmans eyes looked at the tray of food and then back up at Dennis, a lazy expression on his bruised face. "This is a shonkey excuse for a peace offering, don'cha think?"  
The sharp shooter pushed the food around the plate with his callused fingers, clearly showing no want for what had been put in front of him. "I don't want the food."

Micks eyes burned into the scouts as he repeated himself, "I don't want the food." The youngsters face was unreadable, he simply sat there, it was quite clear that he wasn't going to leave. iNot yet anyway/i.

If the kid wasn't going to leave, then Mick would make him. It was for his own good, he was an idiot for thinking something could ever come of him and Dennis. The youngster was better off without him. Surely he knew that?  
Drawing in a deep breath the Sniper painfully inflated himself and shouted as loud as his broken body would allow, "God damnit I don't want your BLOODY FOOD! YA HEAR ME SCOUT!? GO FOR A JOG OR SOMETHING!"

The air was still, anyone walking into the room would most likely choke from lack of oxygen. Both men staring at each other, it was like a battle of the elements, the raging ocean of the Scouts crystal blue eyes against the Snipers fiery inferno amber eyes. "Why'd you have to be so bloody stubborn, Scout?...if you know what's good for ya you'll walk out that door, go back to ya room 'n stay there 'less ya want to end up like our dear departed Engie..."

All the talking had quite frankly knackered the Australian out, his ribs were aching, his chest was stinging and his shoulder, well his shoulder was a fucking train wreck. All the sniper wanted was to be left alone, what he wouldn't give for his rifle and to sit up in his nest, away from all this crap. He just wanted some sense of normality.

He just wanted ihim/i

Dennis raised a brow at the mention of a peace offering. What the hell did he even mean by that? Sure Dennis was kinda pissed at the bushman but they werent at war or anything, Mick had just acted like a fool and made his position in the team as bad as the scouts was. That was what upset Dennis the most, the fact Mick was ruining it for himself because of the bostonian.

It appeared the food wasnt to the snipers taste, as he poked around on the sandwiches as then looked up at Dennis with a gaze the youngster wasnt sure if he had seen before. There was no appreciation, no love or relief or happiness that Dennis was there with him. Was he angry because he had gotten himself a beating for Dennis sake? Had it finally dawned on the sharpshooter that putting himself in danger because of Dennis was only stupid and not something the scout appreciated?

When Mick raised his voice and shouted at him, the loud verbal attack made Dennis' eyes widen in confusion. But what really caught him off guard was that Mick was calling him i Scout /i. What the hell was all that about? The last time Mick had called him by his title rather than by his name had been when he left the kid cold and alone in his room after having a go at him. It didnt really bring back pleasant memories. Why was Mick so upset with him anyway, was it because Dennis had slapped him rather than thrown himself in his arms after the fight?

"Jesus keep it down, you want the whole freaking base to hear you?!"

As Dennis tried to figure out what the problem was, his eyes fixed on Mick and his brows lowered slightly in concern and irritation. What the sniper said next changed that expression entirely. The dick brought up engie, and i was he seriously threatening him? /i Oh that was it.  
Dennis' brows lowered into an angry, defiant expression. If Mick was going to treat him like the enemy there was no way that the scout would be nice to him. It made him close up and go into sort of a defense mode.  
"Yeah why dont you go ahead and try and make me, tough guy? Look at you. i Look at you!/i You think you can do me any harm? You cant even stand up! If I leave your sorry ass alone five goddamn minutes youll fall out of the bed or something, and even if you make it out of it without falling over you'll go look for me even though you know wasting energy could kill you! Its like you i want /i to fucking die."

Dennis glared at Mick. He knew the man would be better off without him, but it seemed as long as Dennis was alive Mick would follow and find him. The only way out was to turn to suicide and give the bushmsn some peace, or try and work things out in their relationship. This constant fighting got them nowhere.

"I cant leave, Mick." His voice was lower and didnt hold much aggression.  
"You're the stubborn one, I told you it was a bad idea but you...you didn't wanna listen, did ya? And now that you got me you realize it wont work and you try to push me away. Great plan smartass. I aint leaving. I'm not gonna let a freaking bushman like you use me like that and call it quits without explaining it to me. I got upset at you because you're a fucking idiot for beating up our soldier! Thats what you're mad about, that I didn't appreciate your pointless revenge?"

Dennis still didn't get it. It was evidently clear that the kid had no idea why the sniper was so upset, like he had forgotten telling the older man that he hated him now to tell him that he wasn't leaving him! What was going on in that boys head? What was he thinking? For a second Mick considered accepting the Scouts defensive challenge and ringing his scrawny neck, his muscles even twitched at the thought even if deep down he knew he could never purposefully hurt the kid.

The Australian exhaled a deep sign and rejoined eye contact with Dennis, his eyes more cautious and weary than angry anymore. "You just don't get it, do you?...I'm not the one pushing you away, Dennis. You're pushing me away, your complete inability to recognise what I do for you. The soldier got what he deserved and deserved more than he got in my opinion..." Micks voice was calm, understanding, almost soothing. "I don't want you to go anywhere lad. Ya mean the earth to me 'n you know it...Earlier you said you hated me, remember eh?" The bushman shuffled uncomfortably on the bed, wincing in pain as he did so and made a hand gesture to his bandaged body, "When you said you hated me, well that was just about the worst pain I've ever felt. Hell I'd rather live with this battered excuse of a body in this state the rest of my bloody life than hear those three words again..."

The ward had become quiet, though it didn't seem as tense anymore, in fact considering all the aggro that had happened it had become a relatively calm environment again. For a while Mick rested his eyes and hummed the song he had previously sang to Dennis in bed, a confident yet amused face began to etch its way onto his face as he opened one eye to look at the youngster. "Ya needn't worry 'bout old hard hat. That yank fought in every war he could gate crash, when the doc tells me I'm free to leave I'll go see him, tell him some goofy story about how I was possessed by the BLU engies new 'friendly fire' drug that made me go a little loopy...he'll believe that"

The air became still again, this time nothing much else was left to say. Mick studied the Scouts expressions, unable to quite understand what the little road runner was thinking, eventually the Australian piped up again, "There's one more thing I ain't happy with you about, Dennis..." His obviously joking stern voice changing to his usual relaxed tone as he spoke again,

"Smile more often."

Dennis finally began to understand. It was what he had said to Mick in a fit of rage that had made the older man so aggressive and upset with him. It seemed the old man had taken the words to heart, goddamn it he ought to know by now that Dennis cared more for him than about himself.  
With a heavy sigh the youngster shook his head. Mick really didn't understand, he didn't realize that he was not only making it obvious to the rest of the team that something was going on between the sniper and the scout, he was also breaking himself into pieces step by step. All for Dennis.

"I don't hate you, what do you expect I was fucking angry with you. How would you like it if I died because of you? Would you be happy about that?" He tried to get his point across, tried to make Mick understand that it was more painful than flattering to see him hurt for Dennis' sake.  
"I hate it when you do shit like that, when you get hurt for no freaking reason, because of i me /i. I...I want you alive Mick, how can I be happy with you if I can't even touch you without risking injuring you? How can I be happy with you when you're six feet under?"  
His voice was calmer but still desperate to make Mick understand. He guessed Mick saw his acting as a way to show - to prove - his love for Dennis, but he had to understand that seeing the older man in this state would never make the youngster happy.

"I'd take a bullet to the brain for you, do you want me to? Do you wanna see me get shot and beat up and die cause of you? Cause I wanted to protect you or take revenge for you or what the fuck ever! I dont wanna see you hurting any more than you wanna see me injured, it don't take a genius to figure that out!"  
As he spoke the irritation and frustration over it all showed itself again, but Dennis rubbed a hand over his face in an attempt to calm down, and Micks now soothing voice was helping him.

"I don't hate you. I care a lot about you...you're the only one here I give a shit about, anyone hurting you makes me mad as hell. Including yourself, numbnut."

Dennis stared down at the floor. He didnt know what to do, what was appropriate to do, what he should say to makevit better.  
"You suck at being discrete. We can't let the others know about...this, alright? About... i us /i..."  
It felt so odd to say it, but how else was he supposed to word it. He wouldn't call them a couple, but...there was definitrly more between them than just friendship.

He dared move the chair he sat on closer to the bed, glancing over Micks battered face and body. He wondered if Mick understood, if he realized the reasons Dennis had for acting the way he did earlier. The youngster hoped to God he understood, just like the bostonian to some extent could understamd the bushmans emotions.  
He gave Mick a glance as the man was about to point out another flaw the kid had - lord knew there were many of them - and when Mick finally said he wanted him to smile more the youngster just kinda stared. He wasnt used to smiling, not out of true happiness anyway. He could smirk and grin mockingly or cockily, but that was it.

He looked away, to the side, before his eyes locked on the tray he had brought with him. The youngster picked up a sandwich and reached it to Mick, staring into his eyes with intent.  
"You eat this, and you got yourself a deal. If you wanna make me happy you stay alive and take better care of yourself. You're no good to me dead, and I aint gonna be happy without you."

Mick understood why the scout had been angry, truthfully Mick was angry at himself for allowing his usually tip top body be reduced to a bloody and battered wreck. He understood how much torment was being caused to the boy by watching the body of the person he cared about deteriorate and fade in front of him. The bushman couldn't help it though, if he had to break every bone in his body to protect Dennis then he would.  
"Look, I ain't gonna promise that I won't do this again...if you got in trouble I'd protect you, I'd try be careful but ya can't bet on these things. You'd do the same no doubt..."

The Australian looked at the sandwich that was once again being held in Dennis' hand. Persistent little bugger. Mick sighed, raising an eyebrow in sarcastic protest before grabbing the food out of his hand. The fact that the Bostonian had agreed to smile more -genuinely smile more- made the hunters heart glow, all he wanted to see was his scout happy for once.  
"I best eat this thing before it starts to haunt me in my sleep for not doin as I'm told..." With a few swift bites the sandwich was gone and the other slices soon followed. Mick took a few cleansing breaths, "That was pretty good, just what the Dennis ordered heh"

Now that food had been eaten, coffee had been drank and problems had been resolved -somewhat- a comfortable silence fell over the room, there was however, something clawing at the Australians brain, a thought that had to be voiced.  
"So, the soldier, heard anything more about his condition? And the rest of the crew, what do they think about all of this shit?" It was clear that there was a lot of work to be done to make things right, the sharp shooter knew that should the American fully recover he'd be doing laps around the base and a thousand sit ups for the rest of his life, the Soldier attempted to run the base with an iron fist, practice drills, quoting "The Art of War" before breakfast. Making peace with the man wouldn't be easy...

Finally, after another silence fell over the two men the older had one final question to ask, one he needed to know, for closure.

"The Engie. How did he fall out there?"

Dennis nodded, almost looking stern and threatening as Mick seemed to finally agree to eat. The coffee was cold by now, but the youngster didnt really care if Mick drank it or not, the most important thing was that the australian ate.  
"Yeah you better eat, or I'm shoving it down your throat."

The bushman finally ate, the sandwiches disappearing one by one and within minutes since he had taken the first bite the food was all gone. The coffee too. Kudos to Mick for drinking cold coffee that probably was either too strong or tasted only like water. Since Dennis didnt drink coffee he had no clue how to make it, but he had tried to do like the other men had when they made coffee, tried to remember how much water and how much coffee was needed for that perfect blend. Whether or not he had succeeded could be discussed.

Watching Mick eat actually brought a small but definite smile to Dennis' face. He felt relieved and more at ease knowing the older man at least would have some energy that could help him recover and hold on to smile soon faded however as the tougher subjects were brought up. But, Dennis would try to explain what he knew to Mick. Honestly he hadnt asked too much about engie, he rather not have the mental images of the man's last minutes on earth before he died. It was too heavy, knowing he was the cause of it all.

"The doc says that soldierboy can see, but poorly...don't think that's gonna stop him from fighting though, but he wont be to good use. No use telling him that, he aint gonna listen. And the rest..?"  
He looked down, feeling bad about it all now. When he had run into the BLU base and even when he had rolled around in the sewers he hadn't regretted what he had done, hadn't cared about the others, he had been filled with such strong emotions that made him numb to regret and guilt. Now, however, it was swiftly consuming him.  
"The entire team hates my freaking guts. All of 'em are hurt, the doc have been up all night taking care of everybody."  
The bostonian went quiet for a moment. He had heard the soldier curse him out for engies untimely death, heard him shout at the medic that Mick had attacked him and not the other way around even though the american believed himself to have all right in the world to beat Dennis up, using arguments about the engineers death to make the doc agree that the scout and his buddy the sniper were in the wrong.

"Everyone put up a good fight, considering all of 'em got right out of bed and started fighting...when things started to go bad a lot of blood had been shed on both sides and it was at the point when neither team could really fight anymore...but solly wouln't let us-..them give up. They kept on fighting and it was hard for 'em to see. Engies sentry could spot enemies in the dark so he saved a lot of their asses. But...that freaking spy..."  
Dennis grit his teeth, still looking down as he could see the ugly face of the BLU spy who had hurt Mick so badly, and now taken the life of their engineer. In an act of respect - almost like an automatic gesture - Dennis took off his cap as he continued to tell the story of the engineers death.

"Engie didn't see him, neither did his sentry, and everyone was already badly injured so he had no backup. He was holding the BLU bastards off alone! Damn spy creeped up on him, destroyed his sentry and killed him. Solly saw it, but that fucking spy slipped off in the dark as soon as he'd come. The doc said they didn't catch the bastard, and it sounds like nobody got a shot at him either..."  
The youngster went silent. He wanted to kill that spy so badly his muscles twitched at the pure thought. But he had to be patient, had to wait until his team - and himself - had recovered, and then he'd take his revenge.

Dennis glanced at Mick again after being lost in dark thoughts for a few minutes. He was silent, but his eyes slowly travelled over the older mans face that he had got to know so well. His eyes then fell on the bandages and the obvious bruising solly's hits had made on him.  
"...aint you tired of this?" He suddenly asked and met Micks eyes again. "Of this place, of getting shot down on a regular fucking basis, of all the assholes around here? I am. I'm tired as hell, I don't wanna be here anymore...but I dont wanna go home either."  
He frowned at the thought. Sure he loved his mother no matter how unfit of a parent she was, but there was nothing in Boston for him. Nothing he missed from that place.  
"Don't you miss Australia? Why did you even come here anyway."

Mick growled lightly at the youngsters empty threat of stuffing the remains of the food down his throat, remaining quiet as he continued to chomp down the last pieces of sandwich and slurp on his lovingly made coffee, inot bad to say the kid doesn't drink the stuff.../i  
"To say ya've never made coffee this is pretty good. Nice one." The bushmans tone came off a little flatter than he had intended despite his genuine complement towards the Scouts beverage making skills, however he hoped that backing the sentence up with a small smile would aid in convincing the Bostonian otherwise.

As was the seemingly usual routine of late, the smiles were short lived and soon became frowns. Hearing that the Soldier wasn't completely blinded and out of action brought mixed emotions to the Sniper, on one hand he was glad that the team wouldn't be short one member, the loud mouth yank was important to the team wether he liked it or not and without him RED would be in deep shit on the battlefield. On the other hand Mick wished he had been blinded, infact he wished more than that, he wished the boiling liquids he had thrown at the older man had melted the skin from his bones entirely, boiled his eyeballs from their sockets, turned what was left of the patriots military buzz-cut to ash and blisters. iGod he hated the man/i. Mick's face darkened considerably as he recapped how the ungodly American had beaten Dennis up, claiming his way or the highway. It was something he couldn't forgive the man for. Ever.

The sharp shooter listened intently to the Scout as he continued debriefing the older man, hearing the sadness in the youngsters voice as he explained how the entire team hated him and how engineer died sent a twinge of pain through the Snipers chest, wether it was his broken ribs or the heartache of seeing his lover upset, he wasn't sure. The Aussie wasn't entirely sure if his youngster felt the same, but Mick felt certain emotional ties to Dennis with each passing moment they spent together. When Dennis hurt, he hurt. When Dennis laughed, he laughed. When Dennis was angry, he was angry.

Anger. iRage/i. Mick could see it in his Scouts eyes as the BLU spy was brought into conversation. The man that had taken their Engineer, murdered him, destroyed him and dismantled him as if one of his machines. The Sniper winced as his bostonian spat out venomous words of hate towards the frenchman, generally there was no love lost between enemy teams, outside of battle zones both RED and BLU upheld a respectful, albeit extremely uneasy truce. Both sides did what they had to and nothing more, where this sparked a vicious rivalry between teams and their members, it never bore hatred. The BLU Spy was a completely different matter entirely, and a matter that the sharpshooter didn't want to think about at present.

A somber air filled the room for a few moments, both men paying their respects to the fallen comrade. They would get a new engineer within a few days. Their twisted world would keep turning. But it wouldn't be the same.

Mick's eyes flicked upward to face the Scout as he questioned the elders reason for being at the institute, questioned the point of being there and wishing he could leave. The bushman took a steady, shallow breath and sighed through his nose. "Of course I miss Australia. Best bloody country in the world, heh.." Micks voice trailed off, his face becoming blank and emotionless, voice cold, "I was running out of igame/i to shoot, as it were. Business was slow so I took business elsewhere."  
The hunters gaze drifted lazily to the wall, amber eyes half open,  
"Not enough people to kill down under."

It was odd how happy it made the young Scout feel inside when he noticed the Sniper seemed to enjoy both the coffee and the sandwiches. It was rediculous, even, that he could feel proud over making a damn cup of coffee. But Micks compliment and the smile he sent Dennis' way, was somehow enough to make the young man give himself a pat on the back and lift his spirits, if even just a bit. Soon, however, those good feelings disappeared as the seriousness of their situation at the base became clear, as well as Mick's intensions for even coming there in the first place. Dennis was undoubtedly happy that the australian had decided to join RED, but he struggled to understand why a man with Mick's skills and maturity would leave his own country to come to a shithole like 2fort. Dennis himself, hadnt really felt like he'd had much of a choice. His life was going to hell anyway, so he might as well make some good money for his dear ma and risk dying in the process, it wasn't like he'd become anything important in his life anyway. One way or another he'd probably die before thirty anyhow, so why not.

As the sniper - Dennis was unsure of what even to call him, what he was to Dennis more than just ' Mick' and 'Sniper', would calling him 'lover' be going too far? It wasn't like they had idone/i anything...well okay, they had done isome/i things but would they be considered a couple? It was far too much to ponder about at that particular point in time - explained bluntly his rather chilling reasons for leaving Australia, the youngster sat quiet and looked at him without moving a muscle, even though Mick was looking away.  
The bostonian had never had trouble with killing his enemies at the base, he didn't see them as people. He saw them more like dollarsigns, and treated them as such. For him, it was all just a game of whack-a-mole that he got payed for, and sometimes he got hurt in the process. He didn't allow himself the trouble of pondering about his enemies' families and how they were people with feelings and values and stories too. When you started to think about it, for each man they killed there were probably a lot more lives ruined in the process; families losing loved ones, sons losing fathers, brothers losing siblings and wives losing husbands. It was a dark world, and it also wasn't a very pretty world.

Mick was a murderer, that was all there was to it. An assassin. But so was Dennis, he wasn't much better himself, and unlike Mick he managed to cause both deaths and trouble in his own team as well, he wasn't even doing his damn job right!

Looking down, with a troubled sigh, the youngster cracked his knuckles. He'd never been too fond of himself, or his sometimes very spontaneous life choices that he came to regret afterwards, and it seemed the australian wasn't very proud, either. He supposed it was a good thing the both of them had found each other then, at least they could bring each other isome/i joy.  
"Well...if you're ever going back...I'm coming with you."

Suddenly hearing the Medic's voice in another part of the Medical bay - most likely tending to the Soldiers injuries and getting an earful of swears from the angry american - Dennis was reminded that the both of them weren't alone. No matter how badly he wanted to stick by Mick's side until he was all healed up, he knew that it would just awake even more suspicions from the rest of the team. They were already giving the pair weird looks since Mick had beat the Soldier up just because he'd put Dennis in his place. It probably wasn't good to make it a regular thing to check up on the australian, as it would seem odd.

"Listen, Mick...I need to go before doc comes around, everybody's giving me weird looks as it is already. I can't come visit you while you're here, but you better not get your ass out of this freaking bed before you're well again or I'm dragging you back here, alright? When Medic tells ya you can leave, you can come see me, got it?"  
Dennis said, sternly as he made sure to make the australian look at him while he spoke. Sure, Dennis was way smaller than the tall sharpshooter, but that sure as hell wouldn't stop him from at least trying to forcefully drag him back to the Medical bay should he have to.

Making sure nobody else was around to see, the youngster leaned forward and reached down to give the older man a brief kiss, before he picked up the tray with the cup and plate on it as he stood up.  
"Don't do anything stupid, alright, snipes?...I'll see ya in a couple of days."  
Though it would be difficult even for Dennis to part from Mick, especially while he knew the sniper was injured and probably in a lot of pain, he knew they had to. But at least then, when Mick finally came back, he'd be whole - literally - and healthy again, and perhaps Dennis' burnwound would've healed up fine as well.

It was a pain to leave the Medical bay, especially knowing he wouldn't see the australian for probably a good week, if not more. Thankfully enough Dennis knew the abilities their medic had, he'd be able to patch Mick up and have him on his feet faster than any other doctor. The both of them just needed a little patience.

iWell if you're ever going back, I'm going with you/i

Mick smiled at the thought of his youngster going back to Australia with him. Besides going to 2Fort the kid didn't seem particularly well traveled and how much further can someone travel than Australia? Truth be told Mick missed his homeland, although business was naught for him there and he was regarded as a grade A murderer. It wasn't the people he missed, it was the place itself, the nature, the fauna and flora. He wasn't sure if a city boy like Dennis would appreciate such things like he did, maybe some day he would find out.

The heavy German accent of the Medic shattered the illusional warmth that his homeland brought to the medical bay, reminding both men that they were in shared company. Hearing the Scout admit that spending time with him would raise suspicion with other team mates while healing brought a pang of sadness to Micks already bruised heart, he wouldn't be coming to visit until the Medic told the Sniper he was fit to leave? How long would that be? A day? A week? The hunter found himself frowning at the thought. Eventually though he sighed, releasing his disappointment through cracked lips. "You're right. Get goin'. I'll see ya in a few days eh?" Relishing the brief taste of the Scouts lips on his own, Mick watched as the youngster quickly left the medical bay, winking to the bostonian when he briefly glanced back one last time before slipping out of sight.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13 CANNOT BE POSTED ON THIS ITE, PLEASE NOT ME FOR A LINK TO THE CHAPTER ON A DIFFERENT SITE


	14. Chapter 14

Mick stared out of the window of the long corridor, his golden eyes flickering wearily across the opposing BLU territory, wondering to himself which room the Spy called home. If only he knew. A small shiver of anger ran through the Snipers spine as he recalled what the filthy french fuckhead did to his Scout. He would make that frog croak. If it was the last thing he ever did. The Spy would pay.

Realising that he had now been staring out at the BLU base for some time, Mick turned his attention to Dennis, a murderous looking smirk stretched across his face, "I have a sudden and rather desperate need to shoot something, reckon it's time I headed on up to my crows nest!" With a skip in his step Mick began to head off towards his own quarters to grab his rifle and ammo, turning around when he was a few meters in front of the scout, "Care to join me? Its about time you learned how to shoot a ireal/i gun."  
With that said, the sharpshooter gave a wink and continued down the corridor to his room, hoping the youngster would follow suit. It would be nice to have some company up in the rickety old lookout nest for once.

It seemed ever since the two men had taken their relationship further than just brothers in arms, everything at the base had gone to hell. Emotions flaring like selfignited fireworks, anger and bickering within the team, and then of course there were the run-ins with the enemy Spy. Especially the last encounter he and Dennis had; something the kid preferred not to think about. He would rather keep telling himself it had all just been a bad dream, or that it really HAD been Mick he'd let do all those things to him, not the Spy disguised as him. But, no matter how the young bostonian tried to brainwash himself into believing it, he wasn't witty - or perhaps dumb - enough to convince himself of anything other than the truth. He'd had that disgusting french man's hands and lips all over him, and as much as he hated to admit it he had ienjoyed/i it. Well, up until the part when he realized who it was he had between his legs, of course, the whole arousing aspect of it all pretty much died instantly that second. But the fact remained, and he felt disgusted with himself for it.

Yet, despite all these troubles, all the tension, all the drama and all the exhaustion and hatred that had been stirred up, Dennis couldn't deny that he took comfort in being in Mick's precense now, more so than he had when they were just teammates. He'd grown close to the australian, he knew he could always trust the sharpshooter and he felt...appreciated, something that was of much value for the teen who'd recieved little to no appreciation or love from his mother or anybody else growing up. In the past few days they'd been through hell and back a good few times, and yet the young Scout wouldn't have wished it to go any other way, if it meant giving up what he'd found in Mick. He couldn't explain it, or put a word on it, he just knew it was different, and special. Something of great value that he couldn't and wouldn't let go of.

Trying to smile and relax his tense shoulders, the youngster glanced up at the Sniper and gave a little nod in agreement. It was still hard for him to admit that he cared deeply for Mick, or for anyone or anything for that matter. He liked to give the illusion that he cared about nothing and nobody else but himself and his own selfish wants and needs. But Mick seemed to see through it, at least Dennis secretly hoped he could. He couldn't bring himself to tell the australian that he cared deeply for him, that he felt strongly for him, but he hoped and prayed to anyone who would listen that the bushman iknew/i how he felt, without Dennis having to utter a word about it. He didn't want to make Mick think he didn't care, but showing affection and even just being generally friendly was such a new, uncommon thing for the bostonian that he was concerned he might not be doing a very good job. Judging by Mick's smile, and his dedication to never leave Dennis' side despite the shitstorms that kept hitting them, it seemed he knew at least on some level that Dennis cherished every minute they spent with oneanother.

When the much taller man stopped to look out the window, Dennis in turn locked his bright blue eyes onto him and took his time to admire the way the morning sun played on Mick's face. Of course, not saying anything, just quietly watching. The kid's brows creased a bit in wonder when the aussie then suddenly turned to him with that grin, only to then skip off excitedly. Sometimes he wondered who the youngest one at the base really was, Mick certainly didn't seem to have any trouble with letting loose despite how silly he could seem and look. It was charming, in it's own way, even if Dennis would verbally call him a goof for his behaviour it was another part of Mick he secretly admired.

"Pfft. Yeah, don't you know what they say about guys with big guns? They only got 'em to compensate for something else."  
With a little snicker the youngster grinned at his own tasteless joke, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his track jacket as he followed the aussie. To be perfectly honest, he'd always wanted to try out using a rifle, the thing certainly looked a lot cooler than his small guns, even if they certainly got the job done too.  
"Yo, wait up, my legs aint as long as yours."

Feeling more and more relaxed and managing to push the events of the previous days to the very back of his head where he wouldn't be bothered by them - too much, at least - Dennis was happy and thankful that Mick was the way he was, holding no hard feelings for longer periods of time even though he probably had every right to do so. It felt like even if Dennis would mess up time and time again, he could always count on the australian being there and forgiving him, in the end, even if it may take more time sometimes. Mick had certainly, without a doubt, given Dennis more chances, more support, more ilove/i than anyone else ever had throughout the kids life, and it all helped to make it easer for Dennis to let down his guard and show the person behind his rough, bratty attitude. The part of him that could feel, and express emotions. Not yet perfect at the latter, but, in time hopefully he would get better at it. At least towards Mick, who deserved to know every bit of admiration and affection Dennis held for him, but simply couldn't voice. Not yet, anyway.

Mick grinned at the youngsters sassy comeback, "You of all people should know that my guns don't compensate for shit, gremlin."  
The Sniper quickly entered his bedroom, signalling to Dennis to shut the door behind him once he was inside. "Sit yaself down while I suit up n' boot up," the older man stretched out cracking his back before bending down to route through the bottom of his wardrobe, pulling out a metal box crammed full of various custom rifle ammunition, after eyeing the various ammo packs Mick finally decided which ones he wanted to use. 15 Calibre tracer rounds, complete with neon green tracer paint which could be seen visibly sloshing around in each bullet head. The sharpshooter took a bullet out of its pack and studied it lazily before throwing it onto the bed where his lover now sat, "Pretty cool, huh? With these beauties we'll be able to see more clearly if you've hit your mark or not." After admiring his large collection of ammunition once more, Mick shut the crate and placed it back into his wardrobe, now plucking out his iconic vest that he always wore over his red shirt, slipping 3 of the tracer bullets into his chest pocket and finally placing his hat on top of his head "Right. You ready? Lets head off."

No sooner had the doors to exit the RED base opened were the men greeted by a gust of warm morning air, the dry desert breeze greeting both of their faces, a beautiful and vast cloudless blue sky stretched out before them, still sporting the colours of the morning sun.  
Around 30 feet in front of them stood the Snipers watchtower, proudly overlooking both bases silently. After a brief pause of admiration the two men made their way over to the tower, soon finding themselves stood at the base of the enormous rickety platform.  
Mick pointed upwards to the top of the nest, his amber eyes glowing as he stared down at his young lover, "After you." The sharpshooter watched patiently as the bostonian scurried up to the top of the lookout, giving a few weary glances around the battlegrounds before climbing up to join his team mate. The last thing he needed was to be seen heading up into the confines of his nest with the Scout.

Mick groaned out a sigh of relief as he reached the top of the tower, smiling at the Scout as he dusted himself off and began setting up his equipment, "Ya'd think that climbing that bloody ladder every day would get easier the more ya do it. It really doesn't…"  
Carefully the Sniper placed a single tracer round into the barrel of his bolt-action rifle and in one swift movement shot at a target in the distance, way out of the confines of 2Fort itself, the tracer bullet hit its mark dead on, spattering bright neon green paint across the centre of the target. A perfect hit. Mick released the frazzled shell of the bullet, admiring the sound it made as it rattled across the wooden floor of the nest before reloading and handing the gun to the young Scout, "Your turn."

The sharpshooter watched as the cocky youngster fumbled with the rifle, firing it almost no sooner than he had been given it, the tracer round sputtered against the sand yards away from the target. Mick chuckled lightly, "Harder than it looks, ain't it?" he popped the shell casing out of the gun and placed another round in the barrel, handing the gun back to the Scout once more, "Again." Once again the youngster handled the rifle, though unlike before, taking the time to line up his shot, once again he fired, once again he missed. Although this time, not by too much.

Seeing the bostonians growing frustration, Mick quietly reloaded the rifle and placed it back into his lovers hands, this time keeping his own hands on the youngsters. The sharpshooter leaned close to Dennis, his lips almost brushing against the younger mans ear as he whispered to him "Right here, right now, time doesn't exist. Listen to your breathing, to your heartbeat. Feel the wind, the direction it's blowing, and compensate for it. Drown out every other noise around you, it's not important. What's important right now is your target…"  
Mick's breath was shallow, almost to the point where it was hard to tell if he was breathing or not, his voice calm and collected. "Line up your shot. Steady your breath. Now. iFire./i"

The sound rung out across the dessert, seemingly quietening everything else surrounding.  
Mick smirked and slowly released the enormous rifle from his lovers grip, watching the Bostonians face as he realised that not only had he managed to hit the target but the green tracer paint of the bullet had dotted itself almost next to Micks bullseye. Not a headshot, but a killing blow for sure, and a killing blow was all that mattered.  
The older Australian stood to his full height and placed his aviator shades over his eyes, a warm smile creased his face as he emptied the final bullet casing out onto the floor.  
"We'll make a fine sniper of you yet."

Dennis gave a little snort as the sharpshooters comeback, smirking amusedly although a weak blush colored his cheeks, which - of course - he tried to hide by looking down at his feet as he followed right behind Mick to his room. Last time he'd been there was right after the aussie had ended up in the med bay for a week; despite how badly Dennis had wanted to sleep in there he knew it would arouse far too much suspicion if the rest of the team saw him slip out of the snipers room, so he'd settled for just snatching one of his shirts instead which he still had hidden underneath his pillow in his own room, and only took out at night when he'd been trying to fall asleep. The thing didn't have much of Mick's scent on it anymore, perhaps it was time to give it back, however awkward that would be. The youngster still felt pretty silly for how something like the scent of another person could make him feel safe and genuinely happy, and he knew that if he'd been back home in Boston and the kids in his neighborhood had found out about that, he would be the laughing stock of the whole damn town for sure. It wasn't cool to be soft and have affectionate feelings, so really it wasn't strange that the Scout had taught himself to keep his emotions inside and refuse to show them. But bit by bit the wall he'd built around himself was breaking and being torn down, the more time he spent with Mick.

Immediately as they entered the australians room, Dennis could feel the overwhelming, but homey scent of the Mick all around. It was like walking into a room where someone had lit a couple of incense sticks meant to clear any stress and bring calmth and comfort, which is certainly did. For Dennis, the scent was closely connected to safety and comfort, so really the only place in the base where he truly felt safe was in that very room, even if it was as easy for enemies to break into as any other room. But the feeling in and of itself helped with calming the youngsters nerves. Hopefully he wouldn't have to snatch another one of Mick's shirts in order to breathe in his aroma when he slept. Not that Dennis intended on it, either; even if it meant he had to rise hours earlier than the others in order to sneak back to his own room he would want to sleep in the same bed as Mick no doubt.

Sitting down on the soft bed, the bostonian watched as his companion searched through his wardrobe; seemingly not missing a shirt. Good, maybe Dennis could just sneak it back in there without him even noticing? There really was no reason for Mick to iknow/i just how much he'd been missed, was there? Or perhaps he deserved to know.

Shaking off the thoughts, Dennis focused on throwing an interested glance at the bullets the aussie brought out. He picked one of the bullets up and took a closer look at it, grinning to himself as he observed it. It was pretty damn cool, and the thing wasn't exactly small, either. Getting shot with one of them surely wouldn't be very pleasant, not that getting shot with any gun ever was. But Dennis little pistol could definitely not compare to Mick's rifle, even if it got the job done, too.  
"Yeah man let's go already! Can't be too hard hittin' a target with this thing, you should try shooting a pistol while sprinting, now ithat's/i a sport. Not that bI/b think it's hard or anything, but you probably would."  
With a cocky chuckle the bostonian eagerly got up to follow the sniper again, curious and excited to try out shooting with the sniping rifle. He'd never handled a gun of that size, or any gun for that matter that was intented for far away percise shots. But, really, how difficult could it be?

Well up in the lookout tower, Dennis took a short moment to admire the view. Granted, there wasn't too much to see considering they were in the middle of the desert and everything around them was pretty much just fields of bombed, dead land. Nothing could grow there and for good reasons. But it had it's beauty, the hills and the colors especially making everything look just a tad bit more welcoming. But only slightly.

Watching as Mick showed off by hitting the target right in the center, Dennis quietly admired his skill. He'd always thought the Sniper was a skillfull shooter, but of course he could never say it and instead insisted that he was better, if just given the chance to prove it. He now had his chance, and - not surprisingly - made an ass out of himself trying to first get a proper grip of the large rifle and itching for the trigger far too soon, sending the bullet half to hell.  
"Man shut up." Dennis muttered, his pride hurt and his determination to succeed with hitting the target like Mick had growing.  
He remained silent as the bushman reloaded the rifle and handed it back to him, this time with creased brows of determination he lifted the gun and aimed before he blew off another shot, the sound it made cutting like a knife through the otherwise silent battlefield. Miss, again.

With a growl, Dennis handed Mick the rifle, demanding silently that he reload it once more and give the kid another chance. He was going to hit that target if they had to stay there all morning trying over and over!  
This time, though, as Dennis got the rifle placed back in his hands, he felt Mick's much larger hands grasp his own and moving them to help him hold the gun properly. The aussies breath tickled the Scout's ear, making a pleasant shiver run up his spine while he listened to the low voice speaking to him. That ivoice/i, what was it about it's smoothness that made Dennis' very bones shudder in delight? Hitching a breath, and feeling as if his heart skipped a beat only to then swell in his chest, the youngster tried to listen to what the voice was saying rather than get soaked up by it's intoxicating tone and the feeling of Mick's lips right by his ear. He took a deep, calming breath, trying to steady himself as he blocked out everything else as Mick told him to. The Scout's light blue eyes locked onto the target, his brows lowered but not in frustration this time, just deep concentration. He followed the sharpshooters lead, moving his arms to hold the rifle properly, and manage to keep it as steady as possible as he lined up his shot.

Managing to control his breathing, so that not even taking a breath would disturb the percise aim he had, Dennis could feel his itching triggerfinger wanting to blow off another shot already. But no, the time wasn't right, not yet, he had to be ipatient/i.  
Suddenly another shot was fired, the sound sharp as the bullet left the rifle, and hit the target. Not too far from where Mick's shot had hit, either. Looking a little surprised at first, Dennis' soon took on a triumphant look as he grinned broadly.  
"Oh yeah!" He exclaimed happily, proud to have done such a good job. Of course, despite how cocky he seemed by nature, he knew damn well that if he hadn't gotten help and guidance from Mick, it would've taken a lot longer before he managed to even hit the target once. He probably would've just ended up giving up and instead run down there to hit the thing with his bat, like he was good at instead.

As the youngster looked up at the taller man who smiled warmly back at him, claiming they could make a fine sniper out of Dennis if just given a little time, the Scout couldn't help but smile back just as warmly. He felt giddy, genuinely happy. Not only that he'd hit the target, but that it was something they'd accomplished together even though Dennis had been the one to pull the trigger. He wasn't used to others taking an interest in teaching him anything, he'd taught himself pretty much all he knew since he'd had no dad around. But now he had Mick, who was doing all the things Dennis' father should've done. Protecting him, teaching him, helping him perfect his talents and his skills, showing him affection. In Mick, Dennis had found so much more than a friend, and because of the age difference he was sure the aussie had a lot to teach the young hothead who wasn't nearly as patient or able to keep his cool as Mick was. But there was more to it than that, and Dennis would never really call the aussie a father figure. He wasn't just picking up the pieces left behind by Dennis' good-for-nothing father and his equally uninvolved mother, but also giving the youngster so much more, something far more valuable. The appreciation Dennis felt for Mick really couldn't be put into words, he didn't know which end to begin with. So, instead he stayed quiet, just showing with his eyes and the sunny smile on his face that he truly was having the time of his life when the sharpshooter was around.

"Me, a Sniper huh? Yeah, I could probably take your job!"  
Grinning playfully, the youngster reached up to snatch the hat right off the aussies head, and removing his own he instead put on the much too big trophy belt. It became pretty evident that the size difference between the two men ranged from head to toe, as the hat would cover his eyes if Dennis didn't tip it backwards a little.  
Managing to get ahold of Mick's shades as well - that Dennis personally only thought were in the way, since they covered far too much of the australians eyes and face - the Scout put them on and found that even they were just a tad too big for him, reaching down over his cheeks and quite frankly making him look ridiculous.  
"Bloody wanka!" Dennis exclaimed with a chuckle, doing his best to immitate Mick's australian accent, and of course failing horribly at it too.

"Think you would make a good Scout? I doubt it, but lets see"  
Reaching up, Dennis placed his own smaller hat on top of Mick's head, although the thing didn't really fit and ended up just kind of placed on top of his head rather than actually firmly on it. Dennis couldn't help but do something he ever so rarely did; he laughed wholeheartedly at the sight.  
"Definitely not your style, man." The bostonian chuckled, his hands gently removing the much too small hat from the older mans head and running a hand briefly over his hair so it wouldn't be messed up.  
"You look better without any of this stuff on really. Jesus these shades- my freaking eyes, how can you have them on all day, everything looks all yellow."  
Dennis commented as he removed the shades and rubbed his bright blue eyes in discomfort.

Mick raised an eyebrow at the scouts poor impersonation of him, trying to hide his amusement as the youngsters face almost disappeared under the snipers hat and shades.  
This amusement soon turned into surprise as the scouts hat was placed on top of his own head, resulting in a laugh from the Bostonian.  
"Yeah, not my style, think I'm better suited to my own gear, heh."  
The Australian lowered his head slightly as Dennis reclaimed his hat and smoothed out the older mans hair, letting a low chuckle escape his throat as he listened to the Bostonian complain about the older mans shades, "Unlike you, I don't have the luxury of being able to run into the shade if need be. These babies keep the sun out of my eyes and my aim nice and accurate." Mick responded dryly, placing the aviators back on his face. The older man didn't show it, but he was truly elated to see the bostonian laughing, like, genuinely laughing. Thinking back he wasn't actually sure he had ever seen Dennis laugh like he was doing at that moment in time. He looked beautiful when he laughed. Truly beautiful.

For a while both men sat in the watch tower, admiring the wasteland around them and enjoying the slowly building warmth of the sun on their skin. Mick closed his eyes and drank in the quiet of the surroundings, if there was one thing in the world that he loved, it was silence. Loud rabble had never really done it for him, the only thing loud that he really appreciated was the sound of a good rifle shot. Now that was music to his ears.  
Micks amber eyes opened slowly as he scanned the battleground below, paying close attention to the windows of the BLU Base that had begun to sprout life, one by one the opposing mercenaries walked down their main corridor and out of sight, each chatting to each other and paying no attention to the outside. Except for one.

The Snipers eyes narrowed as he clocked the BLU Spy at the back of the diminishing crowd, the frenchmans gaze met the sharpshooters in a brief but vicious standoff, of which Mick was glad his companion didn't notice. The bushmans muscles began to tense up, he could feel his fingers aching to grab a hold of his rifle and shoot the impetuous bastard dead and be done with it. But no sooner had the mens eyes met the Spy retracted his stare and continued walking in the direction of his other team mates. Mick didn't normally mind the layout of 2Fort, the fact that both main corridors of each base were facing directly at one another and were made of glass meant that at any given time the enemy could be watching, and up until now it had never bothered him. But knowing that the filthy frog eating frenchman could be watching them at any given moment made the Australian extremely uneasy. It wouldn't be the last time he had to deal with the french fuck. That was for sure.

Releasing a steady growl, Mick bent down and began gathering up his things, admiring his young lovers face as he did so. "We'd best get back to base. We've got a debriefing today for tomorrows fight. Don't want to miss one of Soldiers glorious pep talks…" The older mans voice dripped in sarcasm, he hated going to briefings unless the mission was of particular importance -iwhich it hardly ever was/i-, and was pretty sure that everyone else on the team hated the briefings too. Every time they were the same, Soldier would show off some crudely drawn map that he'd drawn up the night before, would quote a few lines from his favourite book 'The Art of War' and then send them all on their way. What made the man assume he was their leader was beyond the Australian and he was pretty damn sure others thought the same too.

Steadily the two men slid down the ladder of the watch tower and headed off indoors, soaking in the last of the morning sunlight before being greeted by the harsh artificial lights of the RED base. Mick gave his young hothead a pat on the shoulder, gripping it lightly in praise and reassurance "Did well today, maybe I'll take you up to the tower again at some point."  
The sharpshooter smiled warmly at the younger man, glancing back one last time at the BLU base to make extra sure he wasn't being watched any longer. Thankfully it didn't look like it.  
Micks voice lowered slightly as he began walking in the direction of the briefing room, picking up a bit of pace as to make sure they weren't late. "C'mon, lets see what old hardhat wants…"

Settling in comfortably next to Mick, the youngster pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned back against the wooden wall, hidden out of sight from anyone below thanks to his small frame, unlike Mick who even when he was sitting down probably could see over the edge. Dennis closed his eyes with a relaxed sigh, comfortably soaking up the mornings warming sun. It was a real treat, sitting outside in the pleasant sunlight right next to the sharpshooter with nothing but the brief sounds of nature breaking the silence It was relaxing, and the young scout damn near fell asleep. He didn't notice that Mick spotted their little friend in the enemy base, which probably was a good thing, too. Dennis had managed to not lend the spook or the events the day before a single thoughts during the past few hours he and the aussie had spent in the lookout tower, and not thinking about it had helped him loosen up a bit more and get into a better mood. He didn't want to ever be reminded of that evening, although he knew deep inside he would have to face off against the BLU Spy someday again, and there was that lingering fear that the frenchman might try to fool him again.

Why the Spy wanted to be with Dennis was beyond him, he couldn't wrap his head around it and it disgusted him to no end, but it also terrified him. It terrified him, that he could meet Mick in the corridor of their base and not know that it really was a spy. He was terrified, that he might wake up next to who he believed to be Mick, while really it was the spy. It made him paranoid, and that paranoia would probably never go away until the frenchman had drawn his last breath. Trouble was, he was harder to kill than it seemed.

Waking up from his brief nap, Dennis stretched and yawned a bit while the sharpshooter gathered up his things. A briefing, again? Those things were so dull and boring, everyone already knew what they should do and how to handle themselves in battle, why the Soldier insisted on beating it into them over and over Dennis simply couldn't understand.  
"Ugh, again? Man do we ihave/i to go? Really?" He complained as he'd much rather stay up in the lookout for the remainder of the day, napping and relaxing with Mick inbetween friendly small-talk. But, their supposed duties were calling, and as Mick acknowledged their responsibility better than the young bostonian he wouldn't miss the briefing no matter how pointless he felt it was to go on. And, Dennis certainly wasn't going to sit in the lookout all by himself, so with an annoyed sigh he followed right behind the older man as they climbed down from the lookout.

Burying his hands in the pockets of his track jacket, Dennis walked next to Mick as they entered the base, the air in there cooler than outside so the lads wouldn't overheat, since temperatures could get quite high out there on the battlefield this time of year. Feeling the aussies large hand on his shoulder, the Scout looked up at the australian, and couldn't help one of those briefer smiles from appearing on his face.  
"Yeah, guess so, wasn't as much of a bore up there as I thought it would be."  
As he spoke, Dennis were unable to keep is eyes locked with Micks, and instead his gaze fell and hit the ground while he scolded himself for not being able to come up with anything nicer to say. It hadn't been boring or dull, he hadn't expected it to be, either, and yet his attitude made it seem like he didn't give two shits and had only followed Mick in order to kill some time.

Licking his lips nervously, the youngster made an honest attempt at voicing how he really felt, rather than just sound like some brat.  
"I-...I had fun, alright? Really. It was nice hanging out with you." He looked up, meeting Mick's amber eyes with his own light blue ones for just a moment before the feeling of awkwardness for being so nice made him look down again.

As they reached the briefing room, they both made sure not to seem suspicious and kept their distance to each other, to make it seam like more of a coincidence that they arrived at the same time. Once the large american entered the room and began his preaching, Dennis pretty much shut off and just glared at the old yank as if he was being bored to tears. Which, he also was, yawning on purpose to express how damn useless he felt the briefing was. Of course soldierboy grew more furious with the kid over this, seeing him sit there on the very edge of his chair leaned back and with his arms crossed over his chests, those young fiery blue eyes watching the older american's every move with distaste. If there was someone Dennis would never, ever show respect on their team, it was the Soldier. The guy deserved none of it, and the kid cherished the fact that he was able to make the soldier boil with rage.

But all the fun and games ended when the Soldier began to go through everyones duties, who would focus on what out on the field. This part was literally the same everytime; Medic would stay back and tend to the injured, moving behind the others to ensure he would be out of harms way and always protected, Heavy would along with Soldier be the stronger offence, Mick would do his job from faraway up in his lookout unless everything went to shit and he was needed in close-up combat, and Dennis would of course use his speed to penetrate the enemy base and grab their intelligence before anyone could react.

"Scout!"  
Soldier shouted his name, just like he did all the rest as he loudly and clearly told everyone what he expected them to do the following day during the battle, and Dennis lazily prepared himself for his usual duties. But what he heard, made his eyes grow large and his jaw drop.  
"The Scout will iNOT/i be moving in for the intelligence. You've proven yourself unworthy, son, your failures are costing us blood, money and time! We will ibreak/i into their base and itake/i their intelligence, and we will ifight/i our way out if we have to! You, maggot, will use those fast toothpicks you call legs to prevent anyone from entering our base while we storm theirs! biHave I made myself clear?/b"

Staring right into the red, burnt face of the furious american, Dennis stood up so violently that his chair fell to the ground.  
"Man that's bbullshit!/b Who the hell do you think you are, you can't tell me what to do! My job is to get that intelligence, not hang back here while you do imy/i job!"  
The youngster looked just as furious as the Soldier, who only grew more angry when the bostonian mouthed off to him. His fists were clenched, and it was clear neither of them wanted to step down, both of them considering themselves to be right and their opponent to be the one who needed to shut their mouth.  
"Son! You better step down before I ibreak your face/ib DO YOU HEAR ME?!/b I don't want to see you out on that field tomorrow or so help me God I'll rip out your heart and stuff it down your throat!"

Tension rose quickly between the two, the tiny scout obviously no match for the much larger Soldier who was practically all muscles and no brain. He could easily ring the youngsters neck and choke him out with one hand, but yet Dennis was too furious to want to step down. But despite his teeth being clenched so hard he risked breaking them in half, and his eyes holding the wildest fire of pure fury that had ever been seen, there was that voice in the back of his head telling him to stop.

He knew that if he pushed the Soldier much further, he wouldn't hesitate to give Dennis another beating, and should that happen Mick would undoubtedly break in without thinking twice about it. Things would go to shit again, and it simply was not worth it.  
With a snort, Dennis reluctantly took a step back, glaring at the Soldier who seemed to expect something more to come out of the bostonians mouth - as it always did.  
"Whatever." Dennis spat, before he turned around and exited the room, slamming the door shut behind him. He'd let the Soldier win, this time, for his own and Mick's sake.

Tense, and with emotions flying skyhigh the angry young man retreated to his room. It was bullshit, all of it, he wasn't some worthless good-for-nothing kid who was only good for acting like a shield for their base! He was the one who was supposed to use his speed, his wits to get past enemy lines and snatch their intelligence right out of their hands. Just because of that one little incident that cost the engineer his life and a great big midnight war to break out, now the Soldier didn't think he was capabe of handling himself in battle? Dennis was more than capable! He was better at his job than anyone else could ever be!

Furious, the youngster paced around his room with clenched fists, not knowing what to do about his anger. He needed to let off steam, but being in that room really didn't help much either, as just looking at the bed reminded him of what a goddamn idiot he was for letting himself be fooled by the spy. Maybe he was a worthless piece of crap, things certainly never seemed to go his way.

Pulling out the red shirt belonging to the sniper from underneath his pillow, Dennis figured now was as good of a time as any to give it back while everyone else was still stuck listening to the Soldier's pointless preaching.  
He walked down the hallway, and soon ended up outside Mick's door. Letting himself in, the youngster looked around, still pissed as his expression would tell you, but as his eyes fell on the bed his angry and strained expression seemed to light up a bit. He remembered when they'd both slept in that bed together, for the first time. How odd it had felt, but how it had given him such peace of mind and a feeling of safety.

It was worth it, giving in to the Soldier to avoid anymore trouble. For Mick, it was worth it. Dennis didn't want him to get into anymore fights within the team, he didn't want to arouse even more suspicion by making Mick protect him as soon as someone treated the youngster badly. They had to keep their cool, both of them, to keep whatever they had going on between them hidden and secret. And most important of all, to keep each other safe. Like the spy there were probably more who hated the two and wanted to hurt them, and if these people knew about Dennis and Mick's strong connection they would undoubtedly target one of the pair to hurt or use the other.

"We got ourselves into some shit, huh? All 'cus of that freaking kiss."  
Dennis muttered, blaming Mick for the whole series of events that had went down from the first time they locked lips. But, he could never, no matter how much he tried, honestly say that he regretted it. Being with Mick was the only real joy he'd had in life, it was only such a pity that all the shit they had gone through came with it.

With a sigh, the youngster threw the shirt he'd used as a snuggle blanket for the past week onto the bed and opened Mick's wardrobe. He took out an empty hanger that he then began to put the wrinkly red shirt on, trying to make it look all neat like the others so as to not arouse any suspicion, but just as he youngster did so he heard the sudden click of the door. Eyes widening, Dennis barely had time to react and suddenly he was staring up at the australian standing there in the doorway, probably wondering why the heck the kid was going through his wardrobe.  
"Uh...this is not-...I mean...m-man stop looking at me like that, what're you doing here anyway, aint you supposed to be listening to scream-a-lot telling everyone how to do their job?!"

The briefing was dull. So dull. But it was to be expected and was somewhat unavoidable. Mick sat himself next to the Pyro and Medic, both of which greeted him with a brief smile and a nod, which he politely returned with a tip of his hat. Dennis sat near to the other end of the table with the Demoman and unfortunately, the Soldier.  
The mission, like pretty much every other day, was simple. Retrieve the BLU intelligence and hold onto it until the higher-ups saw fit to end the battle. The process of getting the intel however, was completely different this time around.  
As the loud mouthed Soldier continued to bark out the plan, it became quite clear that the group dynamics were being turned on their heads. All RED aside from Dennis were being summoned to attack the BLU base head on, to retrieve the intel with nothing other than brute force. A terrible idea if ever he'd heard one.

Mick rested his head in one of his hands, watching lazily was the Scout popped up from his chair as if it were on fire and proceeded to shoot down the Soldiers plan, much to the older americans rage. The sharpshooter appeared to be calm and collected on the outside, not really giving a rats ass about the two other men squabbling over the plan, how he felt on the inside however, was a different matter. Truth be told the Australian felt like he was about to have a blow out from the tension, the Soldier was completely out of order, everyone in the room knew it. To keep a team member from doing the job they were assigned to do was just about the worst possible move the so called 'tactician' could have made.

All of the RED mercenaries watched as the young Bostonian stormed out of the briefing room, slamming the door behind him with a ridiculously loud bang. The team remained silent until once more the Soldier spoke up, "Any questions, ladies?" Mick looked around the room and after realising that no one was going to be brave enough to ask just what the hell the Soldier was thinking the Australian decided to speak up, all the while trying to keep the angered american calm and trying to keep his own anger at bay.  
"With all due respect, isir/i, we need our Scout. Being the quickest on our force he can get in get the intel and get out almost immediately. The casualties won't nearly be as great with his help."  
The Soldier let out a guttural growl and slammed his hands down onto the table, making the surrounding cups of water and coffee rattle inside of their mugs.  
"The plan still stands, maggot. That boy isn't an asset to our team, he's a bhinderance!/b You want him out there risking our lives!?"  
Mick raised out of his chair, his amber eyes glowing in the low light of the room as he stared down at the shorter man with an icy glare.  
"This plan of yours is risking our lives. Not ihim/i."

The tension in the room felt so thick it could be cut by a knife as the two men stared each other down. Eventually the American spoke up, his voice reduced to an almost deathly low growl.  
"Now you listen to me. And listen good. The Scout is bnot/b joining us in the retrieval of the intel tomorrow. He will stay here where he can't cause trouble and keep our base safe from anyone who tries to enter it. bYou/b will be with the rest of us attacking head on. Lets see how tough you ireally/i are when you're not sat a hundred feet up in the air away from it all."  
Micks eyes narrowed as the Solider finished his rant. Sighing lightly as he turned heel and headed out of the door, now really wasn't the time for causing agro in the group. Not when there was a war the day after. With a hand on the door handle, the Australian reluctantly turned back around before leaving to face the Soldier who was still staring him in the face.  
"Roger that. See ya tomorrow, isir/i."

As the sharpshooter made his way back to his room he thought back to what the Soldier had said to him, he was going to be on the front lines with the rest of them, Scout was to stay in the base and keep intruders out. In a weird way it made Mick kind of glad, knowing that he wouldn't have to worry about the kid being out in the middle of the war zone, and as for himself, he'd been in the front lines plenty of times when the team needed back up, this time would be no different. iWith Dennis out of the way I can try get rid of that filthy spook…/i Micks thoughts trailed off to that event once again, the time he had caught them both together. The thought sent a shiver of rage through the sniper as well as a dark excitement for the day to come when he could slip into the BLU base and hunt himself a Spy.

Dark thoughts were soon out of the window as the Aussie opened the door to his room to find Dennis rummaging through his wardrobe sporting a face like a startled rabbit. The youngsters tone was defensive and angry, clearly still seething from being left out by the Soldier.  
"If you wanted a shirt you should've asked" Mick jabbed comically as he shut the door behind him and sat laid down on the bed, arms tucked behind his head.

"Try not to let it bug ya. I know its hard." The sharpshooters voice was stern but calming as he continued speaking, staring up at the dusty ceiling as he did so,  
"The stupid yank doesn't know what he's talking about. But by the sounds of it he only wants ya here for tomorrow only. Not that it makes the blow any less harsh…"  
It was hard seeing the Scout so upset and angry after having the laugh that they did up in the watch tower, things just seemed to change like the flick of a switch from bad to good to worse, now was one of those times.  
"I did try to reason with him, y'know. The man is…impossible. But if theres one thing I'm thankful for with his jacked up plan its that I won't have to worry as much about you tomorrow while I'm out on the front lines. Plus being charged with lookin after this place by yourself, well its a pretty big job."  
The Sniper shifted his gaze to Dennis, who returned it, his expression still angry though Mick hoped less so than before.  
"Come over 'ere." the older man gestured to the bed, "Lay down for a little while. Can't go to war with tension on the brain."

Feeling like he'd been caught red-handed, the youngster quickly turned his back towards the australian and stared pointlessly into the wardrobe, not sure what to do in order to not look like an even bigger goof than he probably did. Even if Mick didn't mind the youngster going in and out of his room when he wasn't there and going through his wardrobe, it still felt so damn awkward to have been caught doing it, especially since Dennis wasn't particularly interested in telling the bushman the reason iwhy/i he was going through his stuff. Fumbling with the wrinkly shirt, Dennis pretty much just pushed the thing into the rather full wardrobe as he listened to the older man speak, calm and collected as he always was.

With a grunt, Dennis turned his head and gave the sniper a dark glare as he said he was happy he wouldn't have to worry about the kid the following day, something that the bostonian of course took the wrong way.  
"Oh, so you think I can't take care of myself either, huh?" His words were venomous with irritation and anger loaded behind them, even if he knew and was thankful that Mick only cared and didn't want to see any harm come to him. He probably didn't think Dennis was useless at what he did, unlike the Soldier who made it clear he thought the kid was worthless, but the feeling of inadequacy hurt the youngsters pride quite badly. He'd taken care of himself all his life, he'd fistfought others and survived in a harsh environment since he was small, he could take good care of himself and there was no reason for anyone to worry! But, he understood there was a chance he'd get badly hurt, and that slight chance was enough to cause concern and worry for Mick. Dennis felt the very same way for the aussie; he didn't doubt Mick's skills for even one second, but he knew the dangers that came with their job, he knew what could happen to the sharpshooter out there. And, like Mick had said earlier that very same day, it was only a matter of time before the war they fought would claim their lives too.

As Mick urged the youngster to come lay down with him, Dennis looked a little reluctant as he still wasn't in the best of moods. But, with a little sigh he put the clothes back into the wardrobe and closed it, walked over to the side of the bed and lay down next to the older man. So far he said nothing, only curling up on his side next to Mick without really touching him. After a moment of silence, the youngster suddenly looked up and straight into the eyes of the bushman, his gaze stern and his brows lowered, but yet there was a soulbreaking worry deep in those eyes hidden behind the irritation.

"What about me then, can I really trust you're not gonna get yourself beaten half to shit out there tomorrow? You just got out of the freaking med bay, I don't want you being sent there again for another damn week!"  
Frustrated, the youngster couldn't contain his emotions as he pushed his face against the aussies shoulder and arm, closing his eyes tightly as he tried to let go of his worries, but to no success.  
iYeah maybe you wont have to worry about me, but I have to stay here in this shithole worrying about you. It's not fair. And what if you don't come back because of that idiot Soldiers stupid plan? What if I never see you again?/i  
Dennis added in his head, distraught by the pure thought of never seeing Mick again. He couldn't bare it, and so he fell silent and pressed his face against the older man with his eyes closed, blocking out everything else and trying only to focus on the two of them, breathing in Mick's scent and cherishing the comforting warmth that he'd missed so for the past week, the only things that could soothe his worry even in the slightest.

Mick frowned as the Scout buried himself into the older mans shoulder. A strong arm of the sharpshooter enveloped the bostonian in a protective grasp as he began to speak quietly to his lover. "Well, no, you can't trust me that I won't come back a little beat up. You can't trust that I won't have to spend another million years in the med bay. But you can trust me to come back." The grip around Dennis tightened further as the Sniper held onto him, breathing in his scent. "I told ya. I won't leave. I can be blown half way to the hell thats waitin' for me and I'll still come back as long as theres someone to come back to. Understand?"

Dennis curled up in the sharpshooters arms, almost disappearing in his strong grip as Mick did his best to comfort him, speaking lowly and softly to him and assuring the bostonian that while he may come back injured, he would always come back. It was some comfort to hear, but the fear for the snipers life was still lingering and making Dennis' heart feel heavy in his chest, Why, of all places, did he have to find someone he cared so dearly for in a freaking war zone? Here, where he'd sworn not to make any contacts whatsoever and keep every relationship strictly work-related, and yet here Dennis was clinging to the bushman and shaking at the thought of perhaps never seeing him again once the next day was over. Mick wasn't yet completely healed, he couldn't be; it had only been five days and while the Medic was a miracle worker, it would still be some time before the aussies injuries were completely healed and his body had gone back to what it once was. He shouldn't be out fighting, he should stay inside where it was safe, right by Dennis' side.

Whimpering quietly, the scout held onto the older man as he breathed in his scent. He lay there for God knew how long, allowing the comforting silence to take over until Mick suddenly began snoring lightly. The guy's arms went limp as he sunk into a deeper sleep, while Dennis just lay and listened to him. He rested his head against the bushman's chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat and the relaxed breaths he took. It was all so soothing, Dennis never wanted to be torn away from Mick ever again. He could not allow him to run head first into the BLU base the following morning. To hell with the rest, Dennis could care less what heppened to them; if they wanted to go on with this suicidemission they could do that, but to pull Mick into it all was not something he could accept.  
So, after lying completely still in the snipers arms for a few hours, Dennis finally decided to move.


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15 CANNOT BE POSTED ON THIS SITE, PLEASE MESSAGE ME FOR A LINK TO HE CHAPTER ON A DIFFERENT SITE


	16. Chapter 16

The Snipers heart felt as though it physically breaking inside of his chest as he looked down at the trembling mess that was Dennis. The words the kid sputtered out might have even brought tears to the older mans eyes had he not been so full of rage over the Spies actions.  
Slowly Mick knelt down, placing a hand gently on the youngsters shoulder, his voice stern yet reassuringly protective. "Come with me." Painfully the older man pulled himself back up on his feet, groaning quietly as the bones in his arm crackled from the movement of helping the terrified Scout to his feet and slowly escorting him out of the door of the room.

Outside the remains of the war still raged, the RED team almost back to their own base and the BLU team making sure it stayed that way. It came of no surprise that the team had failed in retrieving the enemy intel. The Soldier would never admit it, but his plan had been a complete train wreck. As the two men walked down the corridor Mick couldn't help but question if his young companion would have been better off fighting for his life out in the war zone rather than sticking around the base ending up in the situation that he did. He hated to think about it but he came to the conclusion that yes, knowing Dennis' personality, the fate of what lay in wait out in the war zone would have been a million times preferable to what he had just gone through…_And a lot less humiliating. _

After a painstakingly steady walk to the med bay Mick had time to think over the experience that had happened, his muscles still twitching in rage. God he hated that spook. He loathed the man. Detested him. Sitting the Scout on one of the beds, the older man shuffled around one of the drawers and pulled out some anti-bacterial cleaner, some gauze and butterfly stitches, silently beginning to clean the deep cut on the youngsters head, trying to be as gentle as he could.  
"I know you didn't want to do it…" Micks voice was gentle as he finally spoke up, his broken arm raising slightly to lightly hold the bostonians hand.  
"I don't blame you, y'know that, right?" The Scout said nothing in return, weather he was even listening or still too traumatised was unknown but the hunter didn't really expect an answer, he just kept talking, hoping to god that at least some of what he was saying was getting through.

"Listen to me, kid. It's not your fault, none of what just happened then was. I _know_ you didn't want any part in that sick fucks plans. I _know_ that if you didn't have a gun pointed at your head you'd 'av knocked the living shit out of that prick and then some. There was nothing you could have done. I'm just sorry that I didn't put two and two together sooner. I _swear_ to you Dennis. That bastard won't get away with it. His head belongs to _me_. He'll wish he never existed."

By the time the Australian had finished talking his voice was shaking with pure venomous hate. Everything he had said to Dennis was true. He would make the Spy pay for what he had done and would return every ounce of pain inflicted to the the Scout one million fold.  
Sticking the last few butterfly stitches on the wound inflicted by the enemies revolver, nasty, no doubt painful, but all things considered the injuries received were relatively light.  
"I thought my hangover headache was bad…Guess thats one thing I can't complain about anymore hm?"

With every muscle in his body tense as they possibly could be, Dennis silently followed Mick's order and got up, a little unsteady on his legs still. There was a small but definite space between the men as Dennis was directed to the medical bay, his gaze locked onto the floor and his arms tightly wrapped around himself as his hands clutched to his clothes, as if he was afraid someone would pull them off him again if he didn't hold on to them so tightly that his knuckles went white.

The sound of war, shouting, screaming, gunfire from outside didn't phase him. He barely even heard any of it, the only thing on his mind were the events that had just passed, the hours of agony that finally was over but he now wondered if it had been worth it. He would've much rather just have the Spy shoot him point blank, Mick probably would've been better off as well.

In the seclution and chilling silence of the medical bay, Dennis sat on one of the medical cots, still staring down at the floor. He winced when the australian began cleaning his injury, but almost welcomed the stinging pain as it broke off the cycle of repeating memories, the sounds, the smell, the feelings that were still so fresh and real that he could feel it all.

The Scout didn't look up until the older man spoke to him, and suddenly took his hand. The youngsters crushed, almost pale eyes looked up, finally meeting the bushman's amber gaze. Dennis looked like a terrified child who'd lost both parents on christmas eve, completely distraught.  
Slowly grasping Mick's hand, Dennis was soon clutching onto it and taking comfort in it's supportive, soothing warmth and softness. Even though he feared that Mick wanted nothing more to do with him, the australian was still the only one he knew would never hurt him, at least not on purpose. The only one Dennis knew he could trust to protect him, and a great relief washed over the bostonian as Mick began to speak.

He wasn't mad, he wasn't angry - at least not at Dennis - and he wasn't disgusted by the fact that his younger lover was and had been completely soiled and violated in the worst possible way. Dennis felt like he was nothing, like his body was a dead and empty shell with no worth anymore since the Spy had ripped every part that had any value right out of him, violated his very privacy. But as Mick spoke on, his words like sweet soothing music to the youngsters ears, Dennis began to find his hope again. So much so, that he even managed to speak up himself, suddenly squeezing Mick's hand a little tighter as he looked him dead straight in the eyes.

"No."  
He said, firmly, the only waver in his voice was the underlying hatred, the bubbling anger he felt for the frenchman who'd humiliated him, degrated him, violated him.  
"His head belongs to _us_. I aint letting you have him all by yourself. We'll kill that bastard together, and I'm gonnna make sure he _suffers_!"  
The fire was back, the fighter inside the young man rising from it's defeat and seeking sweet sweet revenge. The bostonian imagined the things he wanted to do to the Spy, the things he wanted to see happen to him. He'd cut his dick off with a razorblade, he'd nail his balls to a chair, he'd break every finger, every knuckle, every toe, crush his kneecaps, beat every single tooth right out of his filthy disgusting mouth, cut him open until his intestents fell right out of him and stuff his mutilated body with granades and watch him blow up into a million little bloody pieces. The man was going to pay, and dearly, Dennis would make absolutely sure he wasn't allowed to die until he'd suffered the worst possible prolongued torture there could ever be.

Trying to push all the traumatizing memories away, stacking them upp in the back with all the rest he'd loaded up over the years, Dennis' eyes glanced over the older man's battered body. He noticed that Mick's arm didn't seem to be in the best of shape, it was clearly badly hurt, perhaps even broken? He had bruises, black eyes, his beautiful body completely black and blue once more. Maybe if Dennis hadn't hidden his most effective weapons, Mick would've made it out without all those injuries.  
"I...I took your rifle...and all your ammo, and your kukri, and all the other guns you have...or...I thought I did..."  
Dennis looked down, feeling now was the best time to confess what the sharpshooter probaby already knew.  
"I-...didn't want you to fight, I thought I could make you stay here if...if I took your guns and everything...but...my plan sorta backfired, huh?"  
Speaking in a low, quiet and almost sad voice, the youngster glanced up at the older man with a guilty look. He really wasn't making life easy for the sharpshooter, and he knew it.

Letting go of Mick's hand, and pulling it back to make the sniper let go of him as well, Dennis suddenly lift his bruised arms and wrapped them around the australians broad shoulders, careful not to hurt him. There was no way a hug would be painless for the both of them now, no matter how careful they were; they were both badly bruised and probaby needed a fair share of rest after the unpleasant day, but Dennis wouldn't let it stop his embrace. He buried his nose against the australian, soaking up his scent and closing his eyes as he felt his emotions overwhelm him. He was so angry, so damn mad, yet he felt crushed and reduced to nothing more than a worthless slug. But he was also thankful, so very thankful to have Mick who took care of him, cared about him. God only knew what the kid would have to endure now, had the sniper not broke down the door to his room and saved the young man from his torturer.  
"You saved my ass, as usual, snipes...he would've done worse shit to me if-...if you hadn't.-.."

Suddenly the youngsters voice broke, and he fell silent as his hands clenched around the australians clothes. Damn it not now, he'd been humiliated enough already, he would not honestly start _crying_. During the entire torture he'd been strong, he hadn't wept once, hadn't shed a single tear or uttered a cry or a scream or a plea for it all to stop, so why couldn't he hold it back now?

"You idiot!"  
Dennis suddenly spat out, placing his hands on Mick's shoulders and shoving him away as he glared into the bushmans eyes with his own, tearfilled, angry blue ones.  
"Why do you even stick around me?!"  
It was beyond Dennis why the tall, handsome and - when it came down to it - loving aussie had taken a liking to him. He could do so much better, no doubt, but instead he chose to go through all the shit that came with trying to form a relationship with a young troubled man who could barely say "thank you" to a person who'd saved his life, let alone show Mick the affection he rightfully deserved. It made no sense.

Micks eyes narrowed slightly as he listened to the Scout admit that he had been the one to steal away with all of the older mans weapons. Essentially preventing him from protecting himself and his team mates. Truth be told he was angry, pretty damn angry actually.  
To hide weapons was one thing, it wasn't uncommon, everyone played pranks on one another every once in a while. But to hide them away on the eve of war? Idiotic. Dennis could very well have gotten the bushman killed because of his little scheme.  
Mick huffed in irritation, "Yeah, I figured you were the culprit. You realise how dumb that move was on your part…?" The older mans voice was quiet but stern, though the more he spoke the softer it became, "But…I know you did it for a good reason…So it's ok."

After a short moment of silence the Sniper was met with a hug from the other man. Mick's eyes widened ever so slightly as he looked down at the youngster, clinging to him for dear life.  
Slowly the bushman returned the embrace, his good arm lifting to stroke the back of the Scouts head, making sure he didn't catch on the stitches or cause any discomfort. He could feel the bostonian begin to quiver and shake as his emotions began to run high, the fear of tears flowing becoming a very real problem. The only thing Mick could do was tighten his hug ever so slightly, whispering soothing words into the teens ear.  
"You're alright, you're alright. I've got'cha. Its ok…"

Up until that point in time the sharpshooter assumed he was doing a reasonably good job of comforting the youngster, it wasn't until the Scout forcibly pushed him away and called him an idiot that he began to think otherwise.  
Micks eyebrows raised in shock, holding back a gasp of pain as he cradled his shattered arm.  
There weren't often times when the Australian was lost for words, granted he wasn't as quick to back chat as the Scout was but he still always found his voice in pretty much every situation. This, however, wasn't one of those times. Aside from the physical pain that he felt, his mind started to wrack itself with confusion, the only thing he could think to himself was '_Was it something I said…?_'

Mick stared deeply into this lovers crystal blue eyes, even when they were misty with tears they looked stunning, like beautiful jewels. He sighed, his gaze breaking away from the youngster and looking down at the white tiles of the med-bay floor, small droplets of blood pattered from the cut on his broken nose, staining the floor. It was at this point that the Sniper realised just how exasperated he was.

"Listen…" The assassins voice was calm, if a little shaken up. "You've been through a lot. That much is obvious…" Mick tilted his head slightly towards the direction of the door, listening as more muffled explosions rang out. "Hard-hat is gonna want to know where I am… I'd best get back out there and help finish off."  
He didn't want to go, he wasn't planning to providing Dennis told him not to, but he also knew the shit he'd get into for "abandoning his platoon" as Soldier would say. No doubt he'd get a fist to the face from the angry old american and forced to sit out on night guard duties for a month. Not that he'd care…. His amber gaze shifted once again to the fragile frame of the Scout who was still visibly shaking with pent up emotions, he smiled gently, hints of sadness staining his face.  
"Unless of course, you wan't this idiot of yours to stay?"

The scene played out like it had many times before, like it always did; Dennis spewed his hateful words and curses, damning everyone who wasn't himself even though he was the one in the wrong. He pushed others away with his anger, his hatred, and Mick almost as if reading off a script appeared to have enough and said he should be getting back to battle. He'd leave Dennis, like everyone else alwas did, and let the kid sort out his head best he could on his own. Deal with the painful, selfloathing thoughts and emotions making him hate the very person he was, and only empowering the feelings of being different from the rest of the human population in a bad way, that made nobody want to stick around him.  
Just like Mick had left him in his room after Dennis messed up whatever romance they possibly could have got going, just like he'd left after the scout had been found with the spy between his legs, and now he was moving to leave again, probably not coming back this time.

Dennis glared down at his own bruised legs as he curled up on the medical cot, preparing to be left behind to deal with the shitstorm of emotions he had raging inside him all by himself. But then Mick didn't leave, and instead turned around with a look of sadness on his face even though he was smiling, asking if Dennis really wanted him to leave.

The youngster looked up in surprise; he wasn't used to people sticking around when he went on his rages, when he cursed everyone he held dear because he couldn't deal with his own pain and didn't find himself to be worth enough to be in their lives. He didn't want to drag Mick down with him, it was the last thing he wanted, but it still hurt whenever the sniper actually considered just up and leaving, of course, because Dennis truly did care for him and wanted it to work between them.  
As the two's eyes met, Dennis was quick to let Mick know he absoluitely didn't want him to leave, no matter how it may seem like he was pushing the older man away.  
"D-don't go. Don't." He reached out a hand and grasped Mick's, holding it tightly as if to ensure he wouldn't run off.

The sniper truly couldn't feel appreciated. He must feel like he was pouring his heart and soul into whatever relationship they had, only to be yelled at and pushed away. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, and he didn't deserved it. Dennis realized, in fact he'd always known, that he had to fix it before it was too late. He _had_ to get over his poor social skills and let Mick know just how much he cared for him. Otherwise, all would be lost.

"I want you to stay...I-I don't want you to ever leave. Ever. I-...you-you're all I got."  
Stuttering, and stumbling over his own words, the youngster felt his throat go dry and his eyes had trouble sticking in the same place. But he pressed on, even though he had to literally squeeze out every word. He'd never bared his heart and soul to anyone before, he felt far too vulnerable and the crippling fear of being hurt and left behind again kept his emotions hid behind lock and key.  
"I just...I don't get why you'd even _want_ to stay...I know I fuck up, alright? I-I know I keep messing up and I aint used to anybody wanting to even be around me! Nobody...nobody's ever wanted to stick by me before, my asshole father left before I even knew him and my mom has barely been in my life either, she aint even worth calling a mom! You...you deserve better than me."

Gulping, the youn man couldn't for the life of him look Mick in the eyes as he spoke, his lips quivering as he tried to say a few choise words, the strongest ones there ever were, put together in a short sentence.  
"I..."  
Blockage. Complete and utter blockage. He felt like he was being choked, nothing more came out. He couldn't. He couldn't say it.  
So he nervously licked his lips and tried to explain it any other way he could.  
"If you wasnt around I would've let that Spy kill me. I held on not cause I wanted to live, not cause I was afraid to die, I did it-...f-for you...for..._us_."  
By this point, he was squeezing Mick's hand so hard the thing was probably about to break off, while his eyes were locked on the floor.

Mick listened intently as the Scout sat and poured his heart out, his eyes flicking from Dennis' face to his own fingers, that under the youngsters desperate grip were beginning to turn purple. With his free hand the hunter lifted the teens chin and gently forced there eyes to meet, his smile was warming. "Why do I stay with you? Because I _have_ to. You're the only thing in this place keeping my heart beating. Without you what would I be? Hm? A black hearted murderous assassin." The sniper paused briefly and chuckled "Y'know kid. I didn't even think I was _capable_ of love up until recently. But here we are."

Slowly the hunter wriggled his hand free of the Bostonians deathly tight grip and made his way over to the medical supply draw once again and with his good arm pulled out a little roll of bandages before making his way back to the Scout and sitting down next to him, clumsily attempting to stabilise his battered arm and wrist with the medicinal supplies.  
"Don't ever give that worthless cunt the satisfaction of putting you down, understand? Like you said, _we_ have to put a stop to this. To him. Once and for all. He isn't worth the emotions that you let him drink up…" Micks face visibly darkened as he continued speaking.

"The BLU Spy, he isn't like you or me. His mind is _broken_. Shattered. Me and him both arrived at roughly the same time. Give or take a few months. From the get go he seemed…Not right. He would never kill quick…Would always draw it out, make them suffer. We lost our first Demoman and Pyro to him. Never was about the mission with him. Not from what I saw." The snipers eyes seemed to almost glow with a malicious, murderous intent. "Theres nothin' but _poison_ running through them veins…"

Silence filled the room as the Bushman recalled the previous horrific wars that he had experienced. The image of what the Pyro and Demoman looked like after they were discovered after they went missing. The Spy was nothing short of a monster. A wolf in sheep clothing. Now that after all this time the frenchman had decided to target the RED scout and Sniper this had the older mans mind running in circles. How long would it be until he attempted to strike again? Hopefully a little longer this time due to the hunters dagger striking the frog in the leg as he cloaked. But still, _he'd come back._

Mick was dragged suddenly from his shellshocked day dream by the sound of an enormous bang. There, stood in the doorway of the med-bay was the Soldier.  
The Americans burnt face locked onto the assassin with deadly intent, fists balled up and knuckles white.  
"**WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN!**"  
It wasn't a question so much as more of a statement. This was the last thing the two needed right now. Cautiously Mick rose off of the bed and to his feet, watching the Soldiers body language like a hawk. The yank lunged towards his Australian team mate, grabbing his bloodied shirt and with deadly intent repeated himself.  
"I said. Where. The hell. Were you out there."  
Mick stifled a groan of pain as he was pinned to the side of the wall, his eyes briefly flicking to Dennis before looking back at his "_superior_" and replying.  
"Protecting the base, sir. Noticed the enemy Spy wasn't around so did a room check to make sure the intel was safe." He paused for a second, making sure the Soldier was still listening.  
"Went to the intel room and saw who other than our very own gremlin 'ere, fighting off the filthy Spook by himself." A lie. Totally and utterly. But thankfully the Soldier was a dull creature and believed every word.  
"**Is the Spy dead!?**"  
"No, sir. When I entered the room he took off and cloaked. We couldn't find him. Entirely my fault, sir."  
"**And the intel!?**"  
"Safe and sound."  
Even masked by his oversized helmet Mick could see the Soldiers expression soften as well as his vice-like grip on the Snipers shirt. The Yank turned to face Dennis before leaving the room.  
"Congratulations, son. You did your country proud. Not so useless after all."

Looking into the bushmans amber eyes, Dennis was struck - as so many times before - by their beauty and how gentle they looked. Those eyes could be so sharp, cut like a knife through anything and anyone, burn through the strongest metal if they had to, but yet they could also be so soft and calm. But to Dennis, they were always beautiful and stunning. If he wasn't so concerned about not appearing as a _complete_ lovey-dovey wuss he could probably spend hours admiring them as he counted all the colors they held.

Feeling warm inside as he listened to Mick speak, Dennis' eyes seemed to have stopped leaking salty tears and even a small smile war brought to the troubled teen's lips. He felt such appreciation, such happiness from those words, and could relate perfectly to them. When their relationship had first started out he'd been terrified of 'love', even going so far as to laugh Mick in the face when the guy claimed he'd once been in love with someone but things didn't work out. The kid had never believed in the feeling, he'd always believed it was something adults told kids existed to build their confidence and trust in society and the world as a whole, only to then when they grew up realize they had just been lied to, and that the world wasn't a loving, caring place with friendly people, but a dark wasteland with egoistic beings all just fighting to survive.

It was still difficult, oh so difficult, for the young man to even _think_ that he was in love with the sniper, and perhaps anyone watching the two would call him blind for not realizing that the emotions he held for the bushman weren't just friendly or a simple little crush. He'd die for Mick without a doubt, he'd die without him, he needed him.

As the sniper sat down beside him, Dennis tenderly helped him to bandage his arm as he continued to listen and take in every word the older man spoke. It was also something that was so very different for him; usually he didn't listen to others, he didn't care what others thought or what they had to say, what their opinions were or what they felt. With Mick it was very different, and while Dennis didn't always agree with the man he would always listen to him, alwas consider what he said, and always take the advice the older and more experienced man had to offer. He was the only one Dennis could trust wouldn't lie to him, he knew he could believe every word Mick said to him, just like Mick could trust the youngster was truthful to him, as well. Well, most of the time, perhaps not when he'd lied about not knowing where his guns were, but it had been for a good cause!

The scout nodded, drying his cheeks and eyes to do away with the drying tears. He wasn't going to let the traumatizing and humiliating experience break him, he couldn't give the spook the satisfaction of distroying him. He'd undoubtedly have scars from the experience, perhaps not visible ones, but that made them even easier to hide. His inner torment could be treated and helped, as long as he had the Sniper backing him up and supporting him through it all.

"We'll get him. He's gonna come back for more - but there aint gonna be no more fun for him to be had..."  
Dennis commented back, his voice becoming as low and murderous as Micks as the two mentally plotted their sweet revenge. It would be a nice bonding experience for them, to take out the Spy together. It could be a fun way to spend their weekend, just hanging out and helping each other come up with creative ways to torture the guy before they'd finally finish him off.

Suddenly the peaceful silence and privacy the two had - for once - was broken as the soldier barged in and started stirring up trouble, screaming and yelling like he was so good at. Dennis wanted to just beat his face in, he really hated the guy, and if he wasn't mistaken Mick's distaste for the yank was equal. But yet the australian managed to keep his cool ad spoke to the furious soldier in a respectful, calm manner, even lying to make Dennis look good and earn back some trust from the rocketjumper.

No sooner had Soldier entered the med bay before he left again, not asking any questions about Dennis curious injuries which was a great relief as well. He did not want to have to explain himself, and hopefully the bruises would be gone soon enough.  
"That guy seriously needs some pills for his temper."  
Dennis muttered, glancing over at the older man with a soft look. Quietly he walked over to have a look at the bushman's injured arm, just to make sure the stupid idiot soldier hadn't fucked it up even worse.

"I'll be sleeping in your room from now on. Just so you know.

Mick winced as the Scout handled his broken arm, making sure no further damage had come to it because of the idiotic rocket-hopper. The australian grinned in response to Dennis' comment on the man needing pills for his anger  
"Too right…Mans a bloody psycho! Ngh…Lets head back to your room and get a bit of rest before tea time. Sounds like everyones back now and I could certainly do with a kip before food…I'll visit the doctor after we've eaten"

The two men calmly made their way down the corridor, casually greeting their other team members who passed them, some more worse for wear than others but all saying the same thing. "_Great job defending the intel from that Spy, Scout! Way to go Scout! Nice one! Well done lad!_" The youngster even got a brief yet enthusiastic hug from the team Pyro before he scuttled off to his own quarters. Mick grinned and passed a glance in the way of his lover.  
"Word spreads quickly eh? Soldier _must_ be singing your praises if words gotten round this fast, little hero." Dennis shot a glare back and gently nudged the taller man in playful protest, warranting a short chuckle from the hunter.

After a minute or so of walking both men finally reached their destination, Scouts room. It had felt like quite a while since Mick had been in there and the Scent of his young Bostonian hugged all of his senses. It wasn't before long that the Australian flopped onto the bed and drifted into an unavoidable slumber with the youngster soon following suit. God knows they needed the sleep.

Hours had passed since he had fallen asleep and both men were awoken by the same sound, the dinner bell. Mick opened his eyes wearily and looked over at his lover of whom had also just begun to wake up.  
"Listen, head off to dinner when you've woken up a bit more, I'm heading on over to my room to change" The sniper gestured to his singed and bloodied up clothing "Can't show up to dinner time lookin' like this now can I?" Planting a small kiss on top of the bostonians head, the assassin dragged himself up and off of the bed, winking one last goodbye before shutting the Scouts door behind him.

Mick had forgotten the state of his own room. Drawers and clothing flung around the floor from the desperate search to find his weapons earlier that morning. The wretched stink of the BLU Spies lust stuck to every wall and every item of fabric. "_Christ, I don't know wether or not to burn all of this stuff or wash it…_"  
To the australians horror a voice answered his out loud thought. A voice all too familiar.  
"Burning it all would be a waste, non?"  
The familiar hiss and ripple of the frenchmans cloaking device begun to revile just where in the Snipers room he was. Leaning against the wall, in the process of lighting a cigarette to be exact. "Bonjour!"

Micks eyes burned into the Spy like hellfire as he cautiously approached his enemy.  
"What do you want?"  
The spook tilted his head, a puzzled expression on his face, "You know what I want, silly man. I'm here to talk to you about how I go about getting it!"  
The Australian growled, his voice deathly low.  
"What do you want with Dennis…"  
"The same thing as you do. A tight hole to fuck."  
Mick felt physically sick at the Spies response to his question, pushing him into a deeper rage.  
"You won't lay a finger on him ever again…"  
"Neither will you, mon ami."  
The bushman stopped stalking towards the other man and raised an eyebrow.  
"Oh? And whys that."  
The Spy clapped his hands together and grinned, his yellow stained teeth repulsing the bushman. "Because you are going to tell him zat you don't want anything else to do with the boy! Zat you do not love him! You were using him!"  
At this point Mick was seething with rage. How dare he barge into his own room after the events that unfolded mere hours ago and tell him this.  
"Hah and ya expect me to do as you say?"  
"But of course…"  
"And if I don't?"  
The Spy took a long drag of his cigarette and rubbed his leg where the snipers dagger had penetrated his skin earlier that day. His voice was dripping with poison as he replied.  
"Well if you don't…He dies. You'd best run along to dinner now mon cher! I'll be back to explain things in a little more detail!"

And with a hiss of cloaking smoke, he was gone once again.

Dennis was kind of surprised when suddenly all his other teammates treated him as some sort of hero, not only acknowledging is precense which in and of itself was an oddity, but they really seemed to think he'd done this great deed and had all the bruises and horrific choke-marks to prove it, along with the stitches on his head and all the dried blood on his clothes. Little did the lot know Dennis had suffered his injures under more horrific circumstances than just fistfighting the spy to protect the intelligence. Still, the youngster couldn't help but smile like a proud little sun as his teammates patted him on the back, gave him thumbs up and the Pyro even hugging him. Now wasn't that something he never thought he'd experience! Even if it was all a lie, the whole deal with the Spy and Dennis protecting the intel from the intruder, the young man had no trouble soaking up all the praise like a sponge. It felt good to be appreciated, even if he hadn't really done anything to deserve it. He certainly had Mick's little white lie to thank for making the youngster a tad more popular in the team, and giving him an explanation for his injuries so nobody would ever have to know what the youngster had really gone through while they were all out there on the field fighting, and he was stuck in the base with the devil himself.

They both pretty much collapsed onto the bostonians small bed as soon as they entered the room, Dennis curling up on his side in a fetal position right next to Mick with his head against his shoulder before he drifted off into a much needed and well deserved sleep. All those hours had really exhausted the boy, and for good reasons. He needed rest, some time to recover from it all, and hopefully when he woke up the memories wouldn't be as hauntingly clear. Feeling the warmth and comfort from his older companion sleeping right next to him certainly helped with soothing the youngster and sending him into a deep sleep.

Some hours later he was woken up as Mick moved, disturbing the youngsters peaceful sleep. With a yawn the blonde frecklefaced boy made it obvious he wasn't yet ready to go up and just wanted to sleep some more, cuddling his face tiredly against the sharpshooters arm and humming lazily in response to Mick's words. Only now did he realize how hungry he was, damn he was _starved_. Maybe dinner wasn't such a bad idea after all.  
"Alright but hurry it, alright? Guys havent eaten too well today so I think the food is gonna be gone in a yiffy. I'll seeya there."  
Giving Mick's cheek a brief but affectionate caress as he recieved the kiss on his head, Dennis let the older man go and watched with a soft, almost loving gaze as the bushman exited his room.

Dennis eventually got up and took a look at himself in the mirror, stricken by how...broken he looked. He felt rested and thus was in a bit of a better mood than before, but what with all the bandages and stitches, and all the damn bruises...he looked like a trainwreck! Ugly. That was the only word to explain it, he looked downright terrible! The bruises had only gotten worse it seemed, growing into their ugly blue-and-yellow and even some of them some weird green-brown color. _Damn spook._ Well, at least he had put no scars on the youngster; that butterfly knife he got could certainly be used for marking the boy should he want to, carving words and letters and symbols into his tender flesh that would forevermore be stuck on the youngsters body. But perhaps not even the Spy was that evil, or he just hadn't given his all just yet.

Shuddering at the thought that his next runin with the frenchman could and most certainly would - if the spy was given the chance - lead to even worse torture and humiliation, Dennis pulled himself away from the mirror and considered smashing the thing to bits and pieces or simply taking it down. The large scar on his side was enough to make him feel like a freak, and now he had all these bruises and the memories of how the Spy had made him into his own sextoy etched in his brain, re-appearing and bothering him as soon as he saw his own reflection.

Dennis re-dressed as well, as his clothes were a bit torn and covered in blood as well. He made sure to make himself as presentable as he could, and then he was off to the mess hall with a growling stomach protesting violently, and rightfully so. The youngster had consumed nothing but a tiny apple the day before, after all.  
Getting himself a plate covered with food - steaks, the best dish the base had to offer - the bostonian sat down and made sure to save a seat for the bushman. But when Mick came around, he didn't seem very friendly nor chatty. Not that he usually was the most chatty one in the bunch, but he wasn't usually _this_ awkwardly quiet, especially not towards Dennis.  
Not wanting to arouse too much suspicion, the youngster made sure to be discrete as he leaned in and gave the older man a concerned glance.  
"Yo, what's up? Something wrong?"

The Spies words had shocked him to the very core of his soul. It was ludicrous! End it with Dennis for the frenchmans own game? He really thought that by Mick breaking the boys heart the kid would come running for love from the Spook? Or did the he just get off in taking what little happiness there was in this hell hole away from people to break them down piece by piece? Mick guessed the latter. The bushman looked around his room cautiously, half expecting the Spy to raise his voice once again, but it wasn't to be, the man had gone.

The walk to the mess hall felt as though weights of steel were strapped to the hunters legs. How was he going to get out of this? How would it be resolved? What would the final outcome of all this bullshit be? He honestly couldn't say for sure.  
Mick trounced into the hall, grabbing a grubby looking plate, some steak and a handful of chips and moved to sit himself next to the Bostonian, greeting everyone else with a subtle nod.  
The sharpshooter stared at his lump of steak, probing it with a fork and forcing a small dribble of watery blood to bubble out of its skin, it was only when he realised that the Scout was talking to him and asked him if he was ok did Mick shove a mouthful of the food in his jaws. Acting if he had little to say due to the amount of food in his mouth.  
"M'fine."

It wasn't long before the youngster repeated himself, once again asking if he was ok to which the older man replied "Yeah yeah I'm fine kiddo, just a bit stiff. I'll nip in and see the doc in a few." Mick felt like he was getting good at this whole lying business. Although than in itself was probably the biggest lie he had ever thought of, being an upfront and honest person made the Sniper a naturally terrible liar, the only reason that he got away with bullshitting the soldier was simply due to the fact that the yank was just that stupid. Dennis however, was not. He couldn't tell him right now. Not right now.

Stuffing the last bit of food in his mouth Mick stood up and bid a resounding goodnight to his team before taking off out of the room and down the hallway. Completely bypassing the med bay. The bushmans eyes closed as he heard the familiar steps of his Scout approaching.

Immediately the hunter turned to face the bostonian. His face straight, an icy cold expressionless face stared down at the youngster as he took a step away. His voice warningly low. "Don't." Confused as anyone would be in that situation, the Scout took another step forward. Mick lowered his head, taking a step in the opposite direction,  
"I said. Don't." His voice rumbled like deadly thunder as he repeated himself before soullessly walking down the corridor and out into the now silent battlefield, heading towards his lookout nest. How was he going to explain this to the kid without him running off by himself to try resolve this on his own with the satanical spy?  
For now Mick knew one thing, that like it or not, he had to be cruel to be kind. For the safety of them both.

Dennis could tell right away that something was up, just by the bushmans odd behaviour. He'd been so friendly and caring before, kissing the scout's forehead before he'd left the room even though the two would soon meet again, and when they did just moments later he was like a completely different man. Something was definitely up, it all smelled really fishy. But Dennis knew he couldn't pressure the australian to tell the truth, at least not here where everyone else could hear and see. So the bostonians stern, observant gaze kept glaring at the sharpshooter for a bit as his eyes narrowed, before Dennis decided to just eat up so that the both could leave and he could in privacy ask Mick what was up.

So as to not seem suspicious, Dennis stayed in the mess hall for a little longer than Mick, but once he did clear his plate and wave a brief 'goodbye' to the rest of his team who were very friendly with him all of a sudden ever since Mick's little lie, the bostonian practically ran down the hallway after the much taller man, spotting him right outside the med bay. So was he really going there to get his arm and other injuries looked at and fixed up? _No._ He passed by. Now this was definitely proof that the guy was being a big fat liar, and why Dennis was itching to find out. His brows lowered as he hurried over to the aussie, quickly catching up to him.

"Yo, med bay's this way, you missed it. What have you gone blind? You can't leave your arm untreated Mick, it's gonna get all fucked up when it heals if the doc don't have a look and makes sure everything is straight, and-"  
The harsh, hard, cold voice that Dennis was only used to hearing come from Mick when he was speaking to an enemy had the youngster stunned and silenced. Oh he had not just taken that tone with Dennis!

Creasing his brow in defiance, Dennis did the exact opposite of what his suddenly cold lover said, and took a step closer, only to recieve another growl from Mick who just moved further away.  
"Mick what the hell is wrong with you, man? What'd I do? Hey- Hey! Don't just walk off! I'm talking to you numbnut, get back here!" As Mick turned his back to the youngster and exited the base, Dennis grew irritated - yes, even angry - and refused to stay behind. He was gonna get to the bottom of this, Mick was going to realize that getting the curious and stubborn youngster off his back would be more difficult than getting a piece of gum out of one's hair; the thing just got more and more stuck the more you struggled to get it out.

As they went out on the battlefield, Dennis grew worried in the middle of all his irritation. He didn't like being ignored, especially not when Mick was the one to ignore him. But because it wasn't like the sniper to give him the cold shoulder and show off this hard, emotionless side of himself to the youngster who he claimed he loved, Dennis also grew concerned. Something was up, and he didn't like not knowing what.  
"I know something's going on, snipes! So just _tell me!_ Why wont you talk to me? Hey- hey look at me when I'm alking to you Mick!"  
Letting his voice be heard loud and clear, never leaving the sniper alone no matter how he tried to get away from the youngster, Dennis reached out a hand to grasp his arm, only to be violently shoved away. Now _that_ got him even more concerned. Why didn't Mick want to talk to him? It seemed like he wanted nothing to do with him anymore, at all!  
The young man's bright blue eyes became confused rather than angry, and he couldn't for the life of him wrap his brain around what was going on.

"Mick..."  
Suddenly the youngsters voice was a little softer, more pleading for an honest answer. Slipping his hand into the snipers larger hand and holding it gently, Dennis looked up at the bushman, his voice more soft and pleading for an answer rather than aggressively trying to force it out of the sharpshooter. Even growing a bit suggestive in hopes it would get the older man to react in a more positive way and finally fess up about what was troubling him so.  
"Seriously man, tell me what's wrong...come on, we can go back to my room and talk, or whatever, if something's eating at your brain. Alright?"

God dammit the Scout was harder to shake off than swine flu, refusing to leave the older man alone for even a second. It was really starting to get on the bushmans nerves. Of all the times for the kid to just get mad and stay away from him and this wasn't one of those times! Just his luck.  
Mick was just about to shove the youngster away when he grabbed a hold of the Snipers hand, his pleading tone of voice and eyes stopping stopping the hunter dead in his tracks.  
Slowly he opened his mouth, desperately wanting to respond to the question that Dennis had just asked him, all he wanted to know was what was going on…Was is that hard to just _tell him_?

"I-I can't." Micks voice was softer now, dripping in frustrated sadness, "I can't tell you". In response the Scout frowned, though it looked to me more out of deep confusion than anger or frustration, his grip on the older mans hand tightening somewhat before asking why. "I just can't…" The snipers eyes darted around anxiously, trying to make sure the two weren't being watched or listened in on. "…Ya don't know _who_ might be listening…Just…I…Argh!" The sniper let out a groan in anger and started walking towards the crows nest, punching the solid frame of the tower with both hands but was once again stopped in his tracks by the Bostonians gentle plea for the truth.

After finally giving in and walking back into the base with Dennis the two men made their way to the Scouts room. Although the Snipers room was the closest to the exit neither of the men currently wanted to go in there. Too many bad smells. Too many bad memories.  
Mick slowly sat down on the younger mans bed, twitching slightly as the pain in his bent out of shape arm made contact with a nearby pillow. _Should have gone to the med bay…I'll do it later…_

A minute or so of silence passed as Micks eyes scanned the entirety of the Scouts room, looking for any hints or signs that the Spy might be there watching and listening to them. Nothing. No foul stench this time. Good. They were alone.  
The Sniper drew in a steady breath and stared deep into Dennis' shimmering crystal blue eyes. _Those beautiful eyes…_  
"Its the Spy…" he finally spoke up, voice low, "he wants _this_ to stop" with his good hand the Australian gestured to the both of them, putting emphasis on 'this' when he spoke. The Scout was obviously shocked.  
"I'm not going anywhere. Don't worry." Mick instantly reassured the teen, making him damn well know that whatever bullshit crackpot plan the frenchman had the hunter wouldn't play along. "We need to sort something out…We have to make it look, to him, that we're not together." Just the very thought of even _pretending_ to not be together made the Sniper feel ill. He cupped the side of his lovers face gently and stared at him with an intense amber glow.  
"I _can't_ let him hurt you again, Dennis…"

It took some pleading and begging, along with just as pleading looks of sadness that seemed to make the bushmans heart bleed before Mick was finally convinced to follow Dennis back to his room and explain his own odd behaviour. The kid held his hand, stroking it gently with his thumb and being as affectionate and begging the bushman to just come clean, knowing full well that in the end the sniper's will would break. He was much too sensitive when it came to Dennis, and the kid knew just what buttons to push and how to groom the older male into telling him all he needed and wanted to know.

Finally Dennis managed to bring Mick back to his room, and by the time they arrived his brain was working in overdrive to try and figure out what the hell was going on. It wasn't like Mick to keep secrets from him like that, and it was painfully obvious that the bushman didn't really want to lie and stay quiet, either, but something held him back from just being honest with Dennis.

Closing the door behind them, the bostonian crossed his bruised arms over his chest, staring straight at the sniper who'd taken a seat on his bed, the young man's blue eyes speaking for him.  
"So what's up?"

Finally Mick began to talk, and Dennis' eyes widened as his gaze darkened. Of course the spy had something to do with it! He should've known, the spooks only purpose in life seemed to be to make their lives hell. Why he'd targeted Dennis and Mick, the young man didn't know. Well, he had a feeling, a gut feeling what the spy was after; something he'd gotten a taste of earlier that day. The memory made chills run up his spine, and he was filled with disgust. But even if the BLU Spy was after Dennis, did he really believe that making the two part from oneanother would increase his chaces with Dennis? Did he really in his bayshit insane mind believe that the youngster would come running to him if Mick no longer was in the picture? He was mad. Mad and stupid.  
"That's right, you're not going anywhere!" Dennis confirmed sternly, making it clear that it was out of the question to play along in the Spy's sadistic game.

Walking closer to the sharpshooter, Dennis felt his gentle, large but oh so soft had on his cheek, the touch as soothing and comforting as it always was. The only one who could ever make Dennis feel calm with only the briefest touch of a hand was Mick. Anyone else placed a hand on the kid and Dennis would most likely break every finger on both of their hands and kick them off the edge of the earth.

With a sigh, the bostonian looked into the older man's amber eyes with a determined look as he cupped his face in turn. He knew that the bushman would give up anything to keep Dennis safe, just like Dennis had given up every last part of himself, his pride, his sanity, what little purity he had left, for Mick. But it wasn't worth their relationship; the Spy would come after Dennis for more 'fun' as he called it, whether Mick was in the picture or not. If he wasn't around the spook would just have even easier access to the youngster since Mick wouldn't be around to protect him, so really if Mick truly left the bostonian he'd be putting the kid in even more danger.

"He's not done with me, Mick. He's never gonna be, not as long as there's something to gain. An' he...he didn't...get all of me."  
Struggling to speak, his voice low as he remembered the worst hours of his life that he'd had to endure earlier that very day, Dennis spoke lowly, almost in a whisper. While the spy had touched and fondled and squeezed to his heart's desire, he had - thank God - not gotten so far as to penetrate the kid, something he undoubtedly wanted to save as the grand finale of his prolongued torture-session. The Spy hadn't gotten his full satisfaction yet, so he'd be back. He'd be back to fuck the kid raw, and perhaps then he _might_ feel like leaving him alone, unless of course he found great joy and pleasure in fucking the less than co-operative bostonian and cause him even more trauma and pain, undoubtedly something the frenchman would enjoy to no end.

"Look, whether he thinks we're together or not he's gonna come after me again. I know he is, Mick, that man is sick and obsessed, he-he _needs_ more. We can just keep doing what we're doing and wait for him, let him come around when he feels like it, but this time we'll be prepared and kill that bastard as soon as he shows his ugly face! Or, I guess we could play along...make him think you're nowhere near me anymore, making me an easy target, and when he seeks me out we'll reveal it was all a set up and he'll be trapped. I don't think it matters what we do, he's not gonna stop, not unless we stop him. He wants you out of the way so he can get to me easier, don't you get that? He's not gonna honor some damn deal and leave me be just cause you're out of my life! But he probably think I aint gonna fight back, heh...fucking idiot."

Feeling his blood begin to boil as he spat out his venomous words, only thinking about the spy making the youngster glench his teeth in anger and hatred, Dennis took a breath to calm himself as he stared intently into Mick's eyes again.  
"Fuck him. Alright? He's taken everything from me, Mick, I aint letting him take you away from me too. Let him come, we'll get him as soon as he shows his ugly face here again."  
Speaking with such coldness and determination, the youngster's voice seemed to rumble as he gave his final say. Leaning in, still with his hands cupping the older man's scarred face, Dennis placed an almost possessive kiss on his lips. Mick truly was all he had left, all that mattered ayway. Dennis wasn't afraid to face the Spy again, even if his entire being shuddered at the thought of standing face to face with the man - no, the _thing_ - again.

The two laid quietly on the bed, Dennis resting his head on the Snipers chest, and the Sniper resting his good arm over Dennis in a protective embrace. It felt like a weight had been lifted off the hunters shoulders as soon as he explained the Spies plan. But still he had his doubts. Surely _something_ had to give. While the Spy was known more for his malicious sexual intent he was still an extremely intelligent man, more than capable of sussing them out he read through the newly formed scheme the two RED mercenaries had devised.

By this time it had gotten quite late and both men had seemingly lost track of time.  
"11:45? Yikes. Best haul ass over to the med bay to see what our good Doctor can do to patch me up before he complains about how late it is…" The Sniper waited patiently as his companion reluctantly climbed off of his chest and huffed in protest, the older man smiled "sorry kiddo. We'll cuddle later. I promise. In the meantime why don't you catch up on some rest? Its been…well…Stressful today." The sniper made his way over to the door, smiling gently before shutting the door behind him.

Mick knocked on the door of the Medics office, waiting patiently for the German man to let him come in. The Sniper waited patiently, looking through the glass of the main corridor opposite him and sighed. _That bloody Spy…Why us? Why now? Of all the dumb luck…_  
The Snipers thoughts were interrupted as the door to the medbay opened, a tired looking Medic staring at him, "Hm?" The Australian gestured silently to his arm and bruised nose, receiving an exasperated huff from the German as he held the door open to enter. Being healed by a tired and incredibly bad tempered Medic was never a pleasant experience.

After an hour or so of the Medics half-arsed healing methods the assassin was free to go, looking somewhat more patched up though feeling considerably more worse for wear. His previously bloodied up nose had been patched up at the break and his broken arm had been medigunned from break to fracture, although not fully healed the Sniper could now safely move both arms without fear of any considerable damage which was all that really mattered, even if he did feel sore as hell.

Mick walked back to the Scouts bedroom, looking out of the corridor window and catching a glimpse of the BLU Spy staring back at him in his own base, a sly smirk tugging at his lips as he waved at the Sniper. The Australian huffed under his breath and continued to walk back to Dennis' room, he wouldn't give the filthy spook the satisfaction of frustration. Not tonight.  
When he thought about how everything had seemed to fall together the Sniper actually surprised himself with just how much he wanted to keep his young partner safe from harm, and how the Scout wanted to do the same for him in return. Who'd have thought it? That in all the places, of all the times, the two mercenaries would find solace in each other. It really was quite extraordinary. And it certainly was quite special.

Opening the door to the Scouts room Mick was greeted with the small but warming smile of Dennis. _His Dennis_. The Sniper smiled back, glad to see his lover was still awake, quietly appreciating everything positive the two men had with each other, appreciating that of the millions of people in the world, the thousands upon thousands of cities and locations, the two had found each other. The odds that the two men would encounter each other seemed impossible. Yet here they were, face to face. It was almost like a dream. But still, the fear of this dream ending by the Spies hand was still a very real fear to the bushman, though right now he didn't want to think about it.

"Wasn't too long I hope?"

As the two men for the first time in...well, over a week in fact, had the time to lay down and just wind down and enjoy each others company as they lay cuddled up together, Dennis naturally didn't feel very inclined to let go. He finally felt somewhat at peace, his muscles that seemed to be tense by nature nowadays finally relaxing as he could enjoy Mick's comforting embrace and his warmth as the bostonian listened to the sharpshooters heart beating inside his large chest. Each beat slow and calm, coming just when they were supposed to; no beat was left out or hurried. It was like listening to the sea, the same sound over and over lulling the youngster into a comfortable almost mesmerized state. He closed his eyes as they lay together, almost dozing off before Mick's voice suddenly broke the silence.

Feeling reluctant to let go, but knowing it was for the best, Dennis gave the older man's chest and shoulder one last nuzzling nudge with his head before he let go. The scout thought about following the bushman over to the medical bay, just so they could stay together and would be abe to defend themselves if the Spy threat decided to jump out and stirr up more troube. The best thing for the two to do in order to stay safe was stick together. But, on the other hand, they were looking suspicious enough as it was already, and the rest of the team would really begin to wonder if the pair showed signs of really being inseparable. They'd start asking questions, start investigating, and life would become even more difficult for the two lovebirds. No, they would have to part every now and again, and just hope the Spy wasn't around at those few, short moments.  
"Yeah yeah, just hurry it up alright?"  
Dennis mumbled in slight irritation, though his face was more gentle and there was a softness to his voice. He wasn't going to scold Mick for leaving their comfortable position when the guy obviously needed the medical attention.

As the sharpshooter left, Dennis sighed to himself as the room suddenly seemed a lot less comfortable and homey. It was still peaceful and quiet, but not at all the same feeling as when the two were lying together on the bed, quetly enjoying the silence together. Not the room just felt...cold and empty, as if all the warmth had been sucked right out of it the second Mick left.  
With a yawn, the rather - and for good reasons - exhausted youngster decided he could always wait for Mick's return in bed, so the pair could fall asleep together when the older man finally came back. There was no point waiting there on top of the covers in full clothing when he'd have to get off the bed and undress as soon as Mick came back, anyway. So, the bostonian crawled off the bed and lazily removed his clothes; dropping them on the floor and throwing them a little here and there, not minding the mess he was making. It was his room, and he didn't care if his clothes and things were scattered around. It didn't bother him.

Rubbing his sore throat still red with marks from the choking he'd had to endure earlier, Dennis dressed in only his underwear now slipped down underneath the cool covers of his bed. They had both really had a rough day, no doubt, but the kid preferred not to think about it. It was one of those days he wished to forget. Going through life many thousands of days were lived and forgotten about, and though it wasn't very likely, Dennis prayed this was one that would be completely wiped from his memory. The sooner the day ended, the better.

Lying on his side, curled up underneath the covers and with them pulled up to his ear, the youngster's blue eyes were stuck solid on the door, waiting for Mick to come back. He felt bad for the guy, having to walk around with broken bones and swollen limbs and bruises and cuts more often than he should have to, even in this profession. It was evident that they'd all suffer injuries, being and working in a warzone, but Mick really got hurt a whole lot and it wasn't fair. By now the guy must be immune to pain, Dennis thought to himself, and secretly envying that trait. If he could not feel pain...how great life would be. In his opinion he'd had to endure enough hurt already, they both had.

When, finally, Mick returned, Dennis' face lit up like a little sun so quickly it was ridiculous. But he couldn't help it, and keeping the small but warm smile off his freckled, bruised face was impossible.  
"Took your sweet time as usual. Come on now and get into bed already, it's way past your bedtime."  
With a little, tired grin the youngster patted the extra pillow he'd put in his bed so that even Mick would be able to sleep in it without the two of them having to share. "Sharing" wasn't something Dennis was particularly good at, especially not in his sleep. He'd probably end up tangling himself into the covers, pulling them off Mick and steaing the pillow from underneath his head, and if the bed had been any smaller he would've kicked the sniper off it in his sleep to make way for Dennis to be able to toss and turn.

With Mick finally by his side again, Dennis swiftly took his place by his side, with his head on the australians chest and his arm over his abdomen.  
"So, doc fixed ya up?" He asked lowly, saying it more like a statement as his hand very carefully caressed over the bushman's injured arm, which looked a lot better than before but still appeared to not be fully healed.  
"You know you spent five freaking days in that med bay, don't get yourself sent back there for another five, alright? I aint having it."  
He said in a somewhat stern, demanding manner before his battered arms gently wrapped around the snipers larger frame.

Dennis' wants were the same as Micks; he wanted nothing more than for the both of them to be able to spend every night and as much of every day together as possible. He wanted them both to be happy and healthy and in one piece, but, while it may sound like it at times, he truly didn't blame Mick for any of the times they had to be away from each other or either one of them got hurt. He knew Mick was just doing what he felt he needed to, to protect Dennis and do what's right, even if he got himself hurt in the process. Dennis may scold him for it and feel he had all right to do so, but the truth was he'd give up just as much of his own health to save and protet Mick, should he ever have to. If he'd be put in a coma in order to keep Mick from having any harm, big or small, done to him he would. It wasn't something that would, in the end, have a very good outcome for either of them, especially not in this place where death and hurt were so common. But that only made the times when they were fairly well and had time to spend together, even more valuable.

Dennis, for once, wasn't very inclined to sleep away what little time they had to oneanother, even if rest was what they both truly needed. So instead he made sure to open his eyes and look up at the older man every now and then as they lay together in peaceful silence, oberving and admiring the bushman's face, his eyes and the gentle expression on his face. Who knew, it may be the last time he saw it.

The thought was haunting and terrifying, but Dennis said nothing and instead stretched his neck just a bit to give the sniper's cheek a brief but tender kiss. He'd had a shit day, and he wanted it to be over with, but then again he knew that if he went asleep now he would soon enough be forcefully woken up and the whole thing would start all over again. They would have no time for oneanother, no moment of peace, every second looking over their shoulder to make sure the spy wasnt there. Moments like the one they were sharing now, although it was such a simple thing to just lay together in silence in a comfy bed as the seconds ticked by, were truly a real treasure for the two.


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17 CANNOT PE BOSTED ON THIS SITE, PLEASE MESSAGE ME TO GET THELINK FOR THE CHAPTER ON A DIFFERENT SITE


	18. Chapter 18

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	19. Chapter 19

The evening the two had spent together had been astronomical, there really was no other word to describe it. The two men had shared their bodies with one another, shared in each others emotions. It was nothing short of bliss. It had been a couple of hours since the two had come down from their enormous sex-high, and they were now laid comfortably in bed.  
However, now that the two had been sexually satisfied both minds began concentrating on other matters at hand, primarily the battle in the morning.

Mick sighed gently, his eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the camper vans ceiling, "so whats the plan tomorrow?"  
His partner said nothing, though the sniper could sense the youngsters questioning vibes.  
"I mean. We know what everyone else is doing tomorrow. We know where they'll be, what they'll be doing, but we've not actually spoken about what iwe're/i doing."

The bushman shifted slightly, tucking an arm behind his head as he continued, "we can't be runnin' round like headless chickens...How are we gonna lure the Spy out? The bastard knows every other trick in the book..." Neither of them spoke, but it was true, throughout this whole ordeal the disgusting BLU frenchman had always, ialways/i, been one step ahead of them. Always calculating, always plotting, always knowing where Mick and Dennis would be before the two knew themselves. It was a royal pain in the arse, and getting such a sneaky, deceiving man out in the open would be no easy feat.

Micks eyes slid shut in an attempt to get to sleep, it was easier said than done for sure. Every minute that went by the bushman thought of new ways to coax the Spy out from hiding, every iother/i minute he spent thinking how the Spy would see through the trap and kill the both of them. God the whole ordeal was such bullshit, the older man had always taken pride in his professionalism, his efficiency and his adaptability in any situation. But with the Spy, he was having to play a different game entirely, professionalism had been replaced by voraciousness, efficiency replaced by a desperate need to survive, all that he knew was that his biggest asset would be his adaptability and it would be the Spies world he would be trying to adapt to.

The Sniper turned over, facing the shadowy outline of his partner, he could just make out the shine in the Bostonians crystal blue eyes through the darkness. Mick ran his fingers over the younger mans arm, taking in the delicate softness of his skin, this could very well be the last night that he would be able to touch it, the thought terrified him.  
"Whatever happens tomorrow, I'll do all I can to keep you safe. I promise. By the end of the day, you n me will be bringing home that fuckers head as a trophy."

Mick awkwardly turned away from his lover, eyeing up a small digital clock on the floor of the van, 2:32am, iJesus we need sleep/i...  
Without saying anymore the Snipers arms wrapped around Dennis smaller frame, encasing him in a cage of safety. It was odd thinking someone so delicate and small could be recruited into a place like this and be so dangerous, so fast, so vicious, looking at the boy as he was now, it was like being around a completely different person. The Australian tucked his cheek into the younger mans hair, soaking up his scent, "tomorrow will be fine."

"iWe'll be fine./i"

Thinking to himself how much he really needed a shower right then, but couldn't be arsed to actually get up, walk out into he cold night and back to the base to clean up, Dennis tried to get comfortable curled up to his partner, in their foul-smelling bed with smear stains and whatnot. Tomorrow, they really had to make sure they changed the sheets, which would probably be rock hard by then from all the damn juices the two had mindlessly shot out of them. Now wasn't the time to do anything like that, they needed sleep, or at least rest. Naturally what with how big a day tomorrow would be, both men had trouble actually falling asleep. Their minds were no longer pleasantly foggy and soaring in a worryless, cloudy world of pleasure; the threat of dawn was very real indeed.

Dennis' blue eyes locked on Mick's face when the guy asked what they were going to do, what their plan was. To Dennis it was pretty simple, and obvious.  
"The plan is to kill that bastard and make sure he suffers through it. Aint much more to plan, just get in and chop him down."  
Though the kid spoke with venom in his words, he of course knew it was more difficult than that. The Spy wouldn't just be standing there waiting for them, he probably knew he'd angered them both greatly and he probably knew they were coming for revenge. Maybe that was his plan? Maybe he was iwaiting/i for them? Then what?

With a frustrated sigh the bostonian ran a hand over his face and through his messy and still somewhat damp, salty hair. The only thing he knew that could lure the Spy out, was...well, himself. Without Mick of course, the Spy seemed to love getting his hands on the 'defenseless' youngster while Mick was out of sight. Maybe they could pretend to part once they were inside the base, and then when the frenchman showed his ugly face and went for Dennis, Mick could cut in and start fighting him, catching him by surprise. If the two worked together they should be able to ake him down, right?  
"...Seems like he's after me a lot...probably cause he knows it gets to you." Dennis frowned in disgust, squeezing Mick slightly with his arms.  
"Guess I'll try get him out...maybe if he thinks I'm alone he'll show himself? Better that than just sneaking around trying to find where he hides, freaking bastard can turn invisible, we're never gonna find him that way. If I walk 'round in that base alone he'll probably see it as a challenge and bite. He'll probably know you're not far off but..that snake is one fucking sicko, he'd get me in front of you if nobody stopped him. He'll come."

It was late - or, very early, depending on how you saw it - and the two really needed their sleep. Otherwise they'd not have one chance to kill the blu spook. Giving a little nod though unable to really smile about it, despite Mick's soft reassurance, Dennis practically disappeared in the embrace as he curled up against the australian, closing his eyes and trying to let his mind rest. He wanted to trust that Mick would be able to stop anything and everything the Spy might do to Dennis, but deep down the kid knew that few things could stop that cloaking madman. If they were extremely unlucky he'd probably slip out of te shadows, grab Dennis and be off with him to some dark room underground for further torture while Mick would be searching frantically for the kid.  
Mick's calming voice helped ease Dennis' worries none the less, and soon after it was quiet and peaceful as they both finally got some rest.

It had been roughly half an hour since Mick fell asleep. Not a long time, but Dennis was still compltely unable to get some proper rest. He just couldn't stop thinking, and for him the thirty minutes had felt like hours. He was worried, and he felt terrible. But what disturbed his mind from peace this time, wasn't worries about the Spy or the fight the next day. His worries were more directed toward Mick.  
Through the dark the youngster had, ever since Mick fell asleep, eyed the australians face and pondered to himself about...well, them. More specifically his own inability to fully return Mick's emotions.

Mick had said it, many times, how he loved Dennis. He'd let the kid know he was beautiful and handsome, that his scars didn't matter and that no matter what, the aussie would always be there for him. Even now, after their most intimate moment, being so close as two people could be, Dennis still hadn't even squeezed out a 'I love you'.

The words, strangely enough, sounded right in his mind. He pictured himself saying it, without a wavering voice, with ipride/i and affection. He pictured himself saying it, and meaning it, and Mick's expression when he heard the small but oh so meaningful words come from the scout's mouth. For that solid halfhour, Dennis had pondered, and gone through different scenarios in his head over and over, how to say it and whether or not he would really mean it, if he actually did say it. It finally came to a point where he was completely determined, and so sure that the words fit with his own emotions for Mick, that he couldn't wait til morning to tell him. Giving Mick a few good nudges, Dennis whispered his name urgently to wake him up. He had to say it, now, before this determination to just get it said disappeared again. Mick had to know! It could be the last thing he ever told the guy, it was now or never!

Mick awoke, seeming a little groggy and unsure why his lover was waking him up when he had finally fallen asleep, but the aussies gentle face showed only patience as he asked what was up. Dennis stared intently at the older, his mouth open and ready to say what it needed said, even before Mick was fully awake.  
"I-..." Gone. All gone. Every word, everything he had prepared and gone through so thoroughly in his mind for the past thirty minutes; gone. There was just nothing, and Dennis couldn't for the life of him squeeze the words out. It was like he was being choked, like the words stuck in his throat and he ended up just kind of staring at Mick with his mouth open, like he wanted something said but no sound ever came.

Dennis felt cold all the sudden. He felt nervous and he could feel something clench around his throat, choking him and stopping him from wording his feelings. Closing his mouth quickly, the blonde looked down in slight panic and embarrassment. Great, now he was making a fool out of himself, waking Mick up only to say nothing!  
"I...can't sleep...nightmares and shit.." With a displeased crease in his brow, the teen gave up and pulled out a lie instead. Fuck, why couldn't he just say what he wanted to say? Why wasn't it easy? Mick made it look so easy, but Dennis just...he just couldn't. It was a real struggle for him even thinking the words, let alone say them.

Wrapped in a comforting embrace, Dennis listened as his partner drifted of too sleep again. Great, he blew his chance. That brave, bold emotion was gone, the moment of truth passed and failed.  
With a frustrated groan, tired of his own stupidity and sheer ridiculousness, Dennis buried his face against Mick's chest and held on to him tightly. He heard the aussie breathe deeply, calmly, like he was asleep.  
With a sad expression, and almost feeling teary eyed from the sheer frustration and the feeling o peing completely and utterly useless, the bostonian took a deep breath as he inhaled Mick's scent, and parted his lips.  
"iI...love you.../i"  
It was but a quiet whisper against Mick's chest, but as he said it, Dennis felt in his every cell that he meant it,truly and deeply.  
He was ashamed that he couldn't say it when the australian's ears were listening, he knew i was all theguy wanted to hear, and he really did deserve it too.

Somehow Dennis managed to fall asleep, but not many hours later it was time to get up and get ready. They had a busy day, and a good hot shower was first on the agenda.  
Waking up before Mick, the kid looked around the van a littlegroggily, noticing the clothes scattered everywhere and immediately realizing the sticky mess that still needed cleaning. Jesus they were pigs.  
Crawling out of Mick's loose embrace, the blonde moved to sit up. Only, he wasn't quite able to. As soon as his weight was put on his arse, he felt a jab of pain that had him fall right back down onto the bed as he lost balance, out of pure surprise. The scout had not been prepared to be SO goddamn butthurt!  
"Agh! iFuck/i." He hissed, leaning on his elbow and trying to get up again while clenching his teeth. He gave Mick's leg a swat, to wake the twat up.  
"Damn it Mick! Was it necessary to go ahead and cripple me?! Fucks sake it's like someone blew off a bunch of firecrackers in my ass! iJesus christ/i"

Uttering countless swears, nearly every curse in the book - and even newly invented ones not yet written in said book - Dennis waddled and shuffled awkwardly as he tried to get up, with as minimal pain as possible. He felt like he was gonna walk like a constipated penguin; how in the hell had he not noticed this pain the night before? Had the sex really been so satisfying he just forgot about the obvious ravaging his buthhole had to endure?  
"Nice going jackass, how the hell am I gonna run now" The scout muttered venomously as he managed to stand up, his naked frame in perfect lighting from the morning sun. Looking over his shoulder the scout noticed Mick's admiring gaze, and that godforsaken smirk he had too. Always that smirk. This wasn't funny, Dennis' ass felt like it had been nuked!

"Hey! Stop your freaking gawking and get your ass up, we gotta go shower before anybody sees us. I swear if anyone sees me like this I'll kick your ass."  
Dennis blushed modestly and tried to retrieve his clothes from the mess on the floor as quickly as he could - which wasn't very quick at all - so he wouldn't have to feel so naked anymore. Yeserday he hadn't had time to worry about Mick seeing him close up in the nude and being able to stare all he liked, but now with a clear mind, the kid was more reclusive. Of course, despite the pain and the mess, he never wanted to take the night back. Like all things, the amazing experience came with a hefty price.

No sooner had Mick fallen asleep he was woken up again by his partner nudging him, the urgency in the Scouts voice alerting the snipers senses faster. The Australians tired eyes fell onto the Bostonian, silently wondering what was wrong. Mick let out a sigh as his partner explained he was having nightmares, the poor kid, it wasn't any wonder he was having a hard time sleeping what with everything going on. The fact was, however, that they both desperately needed sleep, they depended entirely on it for a victory.  
Carefully the bushman wrapped his arms back around his Scout, planting a chaste kiss on his forehead before settling back down to sleep,  
"try not to worry...get some sleep, busy day...tomorrow"

It felt like he'd only just finished wishing Dennis another goodnight when Mick was woken up once again, this time from the scouts cursing in pain.  
The sniper smirked as his young partner shouted for him to get up, this had to be one of the more amusing wake up calls he had been given in his time. Certainly one that he wanted to repeat again, not to mention it was somewhat of an ego booster being told your dick was comparable to that of a nuclear bomb. Mick chuckled slightly, pointing at his boxers, "reckon we should call it the Weapon of Mass Destruction from now on?" Dennis, for obvious reasons, merely growled in response.  
The hunter stretched and lifted himself up off of the bed, grinning as he spoke, "psh, no need to shout, kid. Why you're so butthurt is beyond-"  
before he could finish, Mick was pummelled in the face by a heap of clothing.  
"Ok! Alright! Shower time...sheesh..."

The two men made their way to the showers, around them were the sounds of other team members beginning to wake up and get ready. It was odd how organised and regimented the team still was, even without the Soldier around to tell them what to do. This was good, they weren't as clueless without the old hard-hat as Mick thought they would be, in fact he was pretty certain that the cranky old yank would be saluting the team and cheering them on from which ever circle of hell he was now sat in. The sniper frowned slightly as memories of the Soldiers corpse entered his mind, idon't worry, we'll give that spook your regards.../i

Mick welcomed the warm water cascading down his skin, he welcomed the clean feeling as the water washed away the stench of sex from his body and no doubt Dennis felt the same.  
The sniper smiled to himself as he stared blankly at the tiled wall in front of him, fond memories of the previous night him and Dennis had spent together ran through his mind. What he wouldn't give to be back in his bed right about now, the feeling of his partners body against his own.  
The two remained quiet as they washed, only exchanging the odd word when body wash needed to be passed over, unfortunately today, time was not a luxury the two had and within ten minutes of aggressive scrubbing it was time to grab a quick bite to eat and suit up for battle.

Mick stared down at his plate, for once in his life a full english breakfast didn't appeal to his stomach. He was hungry but didn't want to eat, the thought made him feel sick, the snipers gaze turned to the window of the mess hall, his worry reflected in the mornings miserably grey sky. Slowly a small stream of his team mates began to enter the mess hall to grab their breakfast, the two men greeted their fellow mercenaries before turning to face one another.  
"You ready for this, Dennis? After we're done today you'll have yourself a Spies head. Stick to the plan we discussed last night, I'll be ready when he approaches you."  
Mick swallowed hard, adrenaline beginning to fill his veins as he took a few swift bites of his breakfast and stood up to head out to the front lines, calling to the rest of his team before leaving the room.

"Alright kids. Lets get this done. Suit up, its time to move out."

Even if this iwas/i their last day together, Dennis wasn't going to just let Mick get away with making awful puns on the kid's expense. There was no egret when he threw Mick's clothes right at him, shutting the aussie up good. Then, it was finally off to the showers.

If it wasn't the most amazing feeling ,to stand under that spreay and finally get washed thoroughly clean. It actually put a smile on the Scout's lips and for a moment he seemed rather at peace with the world. It was probably because his mind was in a different place, not focused on the upcoming fight. He was just taking a moment, to let himself feel. The warming, cleansing water washing over his aching but perfectly satisfied body that still felt sore from the night before, but every aching muscle was worth it all. He'd like to do it again, maybe some night when they didn't have to rush in order to squeeze in some sleep too. He wondered what it'd be like then, maybe he could convince the bushman to go a little easier so they could enjoy each other longer.

Breakfast really consisted of an apple and some Bonk for the blonde. He managed to squeeze down a banana too, thinking to himself he probably needed all the sugar he could get for the task that lie ahead. Stuffing himself full of food would just slow him down, give him cramps. Fruit gave an energy boost and left him not feeling weighed down. If he survived the day, he'd make sure to feast in the evening.  
"I know the perfect place to hang his head once we got it. Hey, you didn't forget to sharpen your kukri didya? Don't want his neck to get all shredded when we cut it off, now do we. Can't be doing that with a dull knife."  
With a menacing, cocky but dark smirk, the kid got up to follow his partner once the minutes were counted. It was time. This was it.

Both teams geared up, and soon stood ready for another bloody fight. One man short, RED had a disadvantage, but with revenge on their minds Mick and Dennis were more intent on success and victory than ever. The kid gave his partner one last discrete glance, taking in every line in the bushman's face, before the alarm sounded and they were off. With roars and battlecries the two teams charged for oneanother, ready to give their all and re-enter the hell that was the battlefield.

First, Mick and Dennis allowed their teammates to distract the other team, like they had all agreed. This would help make it easier for the youngster and the aussie to get into the BLU base unhindered, and hopefully in one piece. Bullets were flying and blood was already being drawn, but the Scout's focus was on nothing else but the entrance to he BLU base. He didn't hear the screams of his comrades, he didn't see the mess around him, he just ran like a speeding bullet, darting past his foes and allies skillfully. Taking cover, the blonde made sure his companion kept up and was coming through unharmed as well.  
Good, they were in.

"Alright, you stay behind, don't let nobody see you!" Dennis hissed in a hushed voice, the adrinaline pumping in his body. He knew it was now or never, and the moment they would encounter the hellspawn that was the BLU Spy drew closer.  
Wordlessly placing a chaste kiss on Mick's cheek, the two parted. Mick would still be around, just hidden and quiet, until the Spy was lured out into the open by the bait that was Dennis. Honestly it made the kid cringe, just thinking about having to meet that disgusting man again, and he hated that he was a living, breathing bait for the guy. Like a piece of fine meat would attract a drooling dog.

With his pistol in hand, Dennis snuck deeper into the base. He knew Mick wasn't far behind, trying to keep himself as unseen as possible, but luckily it didn't seem like anyone really remained in the base. They were probably so goddamn cocky they didn't even protect their intel, going on offence and thinking they'd break through RED's defenses no problem. Honestly Dennis couldn't care less, about the intel and about his comraes. He just had the Spy's blood on his mind, dripping from his lifeless body.

After entering one of the larger, rather empty rooms deep within the base, there was finally a sign ofthe spook being around. He couldn't be seen, but his slick voice echoed hauntingly through the hall, making it difficult to determine where exactly the sound came from.  
"Ah, imon cher/i, I've been waiting for you. Now that you're here, we can finally finish what we started, without that pestering bushman interrupting us. Such a rude thing to do - wouldn't you say? Specially since you had me so close.."  
Dennis grip of his gun tightened, and his teeth clenched so hard his jaw hurt. He felt disgusted, appalled even. The voice, calm and mocking, was the worst thing he'd ever heard in his life, and took him right back to the assault. He felt like puking just thinking about it.

"Shut up! I aint here to play your fucking games, I'm gonna ikill you/i!"  
The scout spat out, looking around and turning quickly in every direction, searching for the Spy with his eyes. But the spook remained skillfully unseen. All that was heard, was a mocking laugh.  
"You have no choice in it, iboy/i"  
Suddenly Dennis felt a cold chill run up his spine and make the very hair on the back of his neck stand. He felt a presence, he head a voice, so close behind him. A split second later he could see the dark shadow on the floor in front, revealing a figure towering behind him.

Dennis had no sooner turned with a twitch, when he recieved a hard hit to the face that knocked his head back, and made his ears ring. He became momentarily disoriented from the impact, and in a flash he had the Spy behind him, locking his head in place with an arm around Dennis' neck, and his butterfly knife pressed against the kid's frail neck.  
"You must think me a fool, boy." The much older male hissed dangerously into the kid's ear, making Dennis' every mudcle tense.  
"You really thought you could fooli me!?/i It's insulting! I knew all along that filthy bushman would be with you, I know he's here. I was hoping you wouldn't be so...predictable."

The frenchman's other arm was simply wrapped around Dennis' waist to keep him uncomfortably tightly in place; the teen could literally not move and he could feel every inch of the Spy's body pressed against him. It was safe to say, thic kickstarted his anxiety and panic, and quickly sent the Scout into an adrenaline-fit. But, Dennis was quickly reminded of the knife against his neck, threatening his life at the slightest move. The Spy scanned the area, looking for the australian. He made sure he had his back against the wall, using Dennis as a hostage and a shield if the aussie would be dumb enough to actually blow off a shot.  
"I would suggest you lay down your arms and come out, bushman! Unless you want to explore how much blood I can empty out of your toy."

With a smirk that only the Spy could pull off, the masked frenchman looked down at his immobile victim and eyed his stretched out body, noticing Dennis' shirt was showing a small part of his stomach.  
"But, perhaps, first I'll have a little fun." The scout listened to his abusers rumbling low voice of pure evil, and he tried desperately to stare back at the man to see what he was doing, but the knife at his throat kept him from managing. Soon, though, Dennis felt the large intrusive hand of the Spy graze his crotch ever so slightly. But it was enough to release all the adrenaline Dennis' body could muster, turning the blonde completely rabid.

"GET OFF!" He roared, struggling to get loose and nearly getting his throat cut off in the process. For once the Spy's want to toy around rather than just kill them both off and be done with it, saved Dennis this time as the frenchman pulled his arm back to avoid jabbing the kid in the neck. He needed him alive a little longer. He wasn't going to let Dennis, or Mick, pass on without completely breaking them down every way possible. Then, he'd give them an unworthy, slow and painful end, offing Dennis in front of the bushman or the other way around. The other way around would give him some more time alone with Dennis to do as he pleased, before he ended the boy's suffering as well.

The run up to the BLU base was simple enough and the opposing team appeared to be too caught up in their initial charge to notice the two men slipping into their base. Now came the hard part, finding that filthy Spy.  
Mick waited nervously behind a wall as his lover vanished out of sight, within moments he could hear the sickening tone of the frenchmens voice ringing through the now empty corridors. Had he fallen for the bait? iNo...He hadn't/i

Hearing Dennis' shout out sent the hunter straight into red alert, every one of his senses were heightened to an uncomfortable degree as he rushed around the corner just in time to see the Scout briefly kicking free of the filthy spooks grasp, just seeing the Spy that close to ihis/i partner made the Snipers blood bubble in rage, within seconds he dived on top of the other man and proceeded to unleash a flurry of punches to the Spies head and face.  
Mick was now in full auto pilot, there was no way, ino way/i that the french bastard would leave the fight alive. He had to make certain of it.

The Spy stared up into his enemies face, a sickening grin spreading across his bloodied lips, "you really think you'll kill me, bushman? You really think this is it?" Mick halted in his barrage of punches, his bloody knuckles grasped firmly around the Spies collar, "you're fucking right i'm gonna kill ya. We iboth/i are."  
The BLU mercenary raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing, "but bushman, how can you kill what you cannot see?" Within an instant the Spy clicked the cloaking device on his watch and vanished, kicking the Sniper out of the way as he did so. Out of pure instinct to protect what he loved most, Mick threw himself at his partner, pinning him against the wall in a cage of his own body. He wasn't about to let the Spy get Dennis that easily.

The sniper stared intently into his bostonians crystal blue eyes, there were so many emotions flashing across the younger mans face, fear, rage, worry, he just couldn't let Dennis down. He had promised to keep him safe, to end it all today, that's what he'd do.  
Micks grip around the Scouts body tightened as he pressed the youngsters body further against the wall, his voice was calm as he whispered to his partner. "Get ready...When I give the word, give 'im hell..."

The corridor felt like it had darkened considerably since the Spy had vanished, though it was still apparent he was in the vicinity with them, a harsh mocking laughter echoed through the walls, sending sickness through Micks stomach, he was getting ready to strike. "You really think you had a chance, bushman?..." The frenchmans tone dripped with venom, "you really think killing me will rid you of the memories of what I've done to this boy? I fed him my cock, and he took it, willingly. I'm a part of him now. He moaned for me, tasted ime/i. Don't you see? He's imine/i..."  
b"HES NOT BLOODY PROPERTY..."/b Micks body shook in anger as his eyes flicked around the surrounding walls, "HES NO ONES. ITS UP TO HIM WHO HE CHOOSES...And he chose me." The Snipers tone became gentle as his eyes fixed on the Scout, "So whats it gonna be, Spook? What say we settle this...Unless you're gonnna keep hiding?"  
Micks muscles tensed as he mouthed iget ready/i to the Scout, if Dennis was going to get his revenge for what the frenchman had done to him, it would be now or never.

For a moment there was silence, time seemed to stop, nothing moved, even the sounds of the battle had been drowned out by the blood rushing through Micks head. The Silence was soon broken as the spy spoke up once again, this time his voice was close to the couple, too close.  
"Keep hiding? Certainly not, bushman...In fact..."  
The Spy sunk his dagger into the back of the RED Snipers ribs, holding it firmly in place, "...I'm right behind y-"  
Within a split second the australian had turned around, using the dagger in the back of his ribs as an indicator to where the Spies hand would be, which was now being held in Micks death grip, with his free hand the hunter tore off the cloaking mechanism of the frenchmans, crushing it on the floor and smirked as the BLU bastard shimmered into sight, his eyes wide with surprise.

Mick stood there for a moment and stared into the Spies eyes, such evil, such deceit, he couldn't wait to see them begging for mercy.  
The sniper stepped to one side, his grip still vice-like around the enemies wrist as he spoke up, the trademark smirk plastered across his face,  
"Dennis...Time to get your own back"

Blinded by the rushing adrenaline sending his body into overdrive, Dennis managed to break loose of the Spy's grasp without getting his throat cut open. The spook wasn't willing to give up his playtoy just yet, he wanted the kid alive fora little longer, which was out of pure luck. Had he been serious with the treat of the knife against the Scout's neck, Dennis probably would've been lying on the floor right then bleeding out to death. But he wasn't, he was free. Free from that disgusting frenchmans uncomfortable bodily presence.

Everything happened too fast for Dennis to fully comprehend, all the sudden Mick popped out from hiding and lunged at the BLU Spy, knocking him to the floor and proceeding to punch him. The blonde watched with continuously growing bloodlust as the Spy's face snapped to the side with each hit, as the bushman's knuckled became increasingly bloodier. Dennis' own knuckles were white he was clenching them so hard, wanting with every fiber in his body to take over and punch that ugly fuck's face in himself. He couldn't let Mick have the spook all to himself!

"No!" The kid's eyes grew wide and he roared with fury as the frenchman suddenly cloaked, disappeared entirely out of sight. He took a threatening step forward, towards where the Spy had last been and was just about to start grabbing furiously at the air in hopes of catching him, when Mick suddenly pinned theyoungster to the wall.  
At first, the pumped up teen felt his every muscle tense and his mind tell him to kick loose from the prison he was in, he didn't want to be restrained! But then, as he took a sharp fast breath, his brain quickly registered Mick's scent and his low calming voice. Dennis didn't know what it was but he suddenly felt calmer. Not calm, but calmier/i. His hands grappled onto Mick's shirt, holding it tightly as his blue eyes darted around the room as far as he could see, searching for the spook. Mick's back was on full display, he could get stabbed any second.

Of course the BLU Spy was nowhere near done in his ittlegame. He was still there,mocking them. His voice echoing hauntingly in the large hall, dripping with the sick delight he took in making Dennis' cringe and Mick's blood boil. He'd pay for those words, and the action he spoke of. He'd pay good! None of it was true, it was all just bullshit! Dennis hadn't been a willing participant, it didn't count! and he certainly wasn't some goddamn spook's property.  
Mick apparently felt the same, as his shout made even the walls rumble. What caught Dennis' attention and turned his face into one of adoring surprise, was what he was actually saying. The sharpshooter fully acknowledged that Dennis wasn't anybodys, practically repeating what the kid had said himself just the night before. He didn't ibelong/i to nobody, no matter if he fucked them ten times over it made no difference, they still couldn't claim him as property. Who he chose to give his time, his affection and his life to was entirely up to him, and the australian was right; he'd made his choice, and his choice was Mick.

For just a split second, the two just looked at each other with affectionate eyes. Though Dennis said nothing, he hoped his gentle expression and admiring eyes assured Mick that he was right. Even if the spy had got his hands on the bostonian first, it made no difference. Dennis couldn't be taken by force, his loyalty and love had to be earned.

Suddenly Dennis caught glimpse of the outlines of a figure coming p right behind Mick, and i was clear as day it was the Spy.  
"Shit look out!"  
Mick turned around, grabbing the goddamned spook and catching him by surprise, unarming him and taring off that cloaking device. A sudden grin grew on Dennis' face. The guy had nowhere to hide now, and without that device he was chanceless against them both.

"Hold him." The scout's brows lowered into a hateful but oddly calm, hard expression as he cracked his knuckle, preparing to savor the moment his fist would meet the Spy's face.  
"Now we'll see how freakin' tough you are" He snarled and threw a hard punch. He loved the sound it made, and the shock from the hit he could feel run up his entire arm. It was exhilarating.  
Dennis punched again, and again, his hits growing faster and more furious as his knuckles became increasingly bloody. He caught a glimpse of the Spy's grinning face, despite the bruises and blood . It made the bostonian even more furious.

Latching onto the Spy's neck with both hands, Dennis squeezed hard and dug his nails into the frenchie's neck. He locked eyes with the much older man who defiantly glared at him, refusing to show that he was in pain, or afraid of his smaller attacker. It only made Dennis squeeze harder and clench his jaw so tight it hurt. He'd show that bastard. He'd make him know how it felt, being stuck and abused, choked until the point of almost passing out. He'd feel every second of it, and worse.  
Once Dennis let go - he didn't want to choke the man out, after all - he could hear the spook gasp for breath. His neck was marked red by Dennis' hands, bruised and ugly just like he'd done to Dennis.

Dennis was in a blind frenzy. He couldn't stop himself, thoughts kept racing in his head of everything the wanted to do to the spook, how he wanted him to suffer, and there was so little time and so little patience. Quickly snatching the butterfly knife off the floor, Dennis grabbed the frenchman's collar and moved in closer with his own face, just to show he wasn't afraid.  
"How 'bout I cut that gross ass thing off and shove it down iyour/i throat?" He hissed, the only answer he recieved being a bloody spit right in his face. Disgusted and even more furious, Dennis wiped it off and raised the knife, ready to jab the fucker right in the crotch. But then, he froze.

Blood. There was blood on the knife, the blade colored crimson even though Dennis hadn't even used it yet!  
That was when it hit him, and the expression of pure anger and burning hatred was gone from his face. Instead the kid looked suddenly pale and he stared up at Mick, eyes darting down to where he could see blood seeping through the bushmans clothes. That filthy fuck had got him!  
"Mick! Shit man you're ihurt!/i"  
Suddenly, the Spy was far from Dennis' mind. He instead felt great instinctive concern and worry for Mick. How deep had it gone in? Was he dying? He couldn't be dying! But he needed aid none the less!

Lowering the knife and not posing a threat to the Spy anymore, the spook took advantage of the fact nobody was paying him much attention and began to fight to get free. Now was his chance, his only chance, to retake control and save his own life.

This was it, Dennis was finally going to get payback for what the Spy had done to him. Done to both of them. The damage done to the men would heal, in time things would get better, they'd start to feel safe again, more whole. The damage they were about to do to the Spy, however...well there really was no getting back up from it. They would destroy him.

Mick stared down at the frenchmans face as he was slowly beaten half to death by the Bostonian, he saw no remorse in those cold grey eyes, no emotion other than pleasure, he was happy that he'd had such an effect on his RED enemies, if this was the way he was going to go, then at least he was going to go knowing how much collateral damage he had caused. The old BLU mercenaries eyes briefly caught the Snipers, looking at the steady stream of blood beginning to seep from the back of his shirt around to the front, the sickening grin of the Spies grew, perhaps he would take the bushman down with him?

The hunters face remained stone cold as he watched his partner grab the Spies knife and threatened to slice the frogs junk clean off, now that he'd really like to see, to be able to watch the old frenchman screaming in agony would be music to his ears. But just as the deed was about to be done Dennis stopped, Mick's face remained emotionless as his partner quickly turned to face him, worry evident on the younger mans face.  
iYou're hurt/i  
Micks eyes found their way down to his side, he couldn't see the wound but he saw the blood, and there was plenty of it to look at.  
He didn't have much time to think however as the Spy begun to struggle free and stood up, almost automatically the australian lunged for his enemy, punching him in the face and sending him sprawling on the ground, the Hunters boot was soon pinning the frenchman to the floor by the neck as he turned slightly to face his partner.

"Dennis, what are you waiting for? Micks tone was calm but stern as he addressed his partner, "I can't let him get away again...Not again, not after all he's done to you, to us..." He couldn't believe this, all this hesitation, for what!? The Spy ineeded/i to die. There was no ifs or buts about it.  
"So whats it gonna be, Dennis? Gonna let this French fuck get away? Or you gonna get rid of him?" The snipers tone was cold as steel and he pressed his boot down harder on the Spies neck, causing the BLU to wince and gasp for air, what was there to even think about? Why was this now so difficult to do? Its not like being hurt this time around was any different to the last few times was it?

Only a minute or so of arguing between the two and the Sniper began to feel all colour draining from his face, the lack of action from the Scout had left his own adrenaline dwindling and the more the older man began to come back down to earth the more he realised just how hurt he was.

Mick shuddered slightly, his body starting to feel slightly heavier now, he stared down at the Spy who's eyes were now both too swollen and black to see into properly. The snipers voice dripped in venom as he addressed Dennis, his eyes still drilling into the frenchman "If you let him live...th-then he'll just come back again...and again. So nows the time..." The older man unclipped his Kukri from its sheath and dropped it on the floor at the feet of his companion, Micks eyes now gazed directly into the bostonians, desperation etched all over his tired face, "please, Dennis. Finish this, for yourself...L-lets go home.." That was it, if the kid didn't act now then he'd get away again, there wouldn't be another chance like this, not again.

The hunters eyes shut tightly as the fresh pain in his side made him stumble back against the nearest wall, his hold on the Spy no longer present and the frenchman instantly took advantage of this, his battered body struggling to get up, the BLU's voice was as malicious as ever as he smirked to Dennis, wiping away some blood from him mouth,  
"so, what will it be...iboy?/i Your bodyguard over there won't hold out forever..."

Dennis was ready to drop everything and get Mick out of the shithole that was the BLU base and back to safety in their own, where he could get proper aid. But Mick wasn't going anywhere by the looks of it, he was still fighting with that spy and pinning the french fuck to the floor, while the red stain on his shirt grew increasingly bigger. He was bleeding, badly, and with all that adrenaline pumping in his body and all the reckless moving around he was doing, the sniper would be emptied of blood in no time. It was a wonder he'd not blacked out yet.  
"What's wrong with you, you're bleeding out! Come on!" The youngster wanted to go, he wanted to get Mick out while the guy could still stand on his own two legs. The aussie was twice Dennis' size and there was just no way Dennis could carry or drag him out back to their own base by himself. If Mick was knocked out here he most likely wouldn't get back.

The bostonian looked up at his partner with surprise as he heard the stern, sharp tone to Mick's voice while the spy uncomfortably squirmed under his boot, trying in vain to get loose. Dennis wanted the guy dead, no doubt about that, but not if taking the time to kill him would steal away the minute that could've saved Mick's life. With frustrated and uncertain eyes he watched the kukri drop to the floor, while the bushman told him to finish the job once and for all.

A jab of icecold fear stabbed at the youngster when Mick stumbled back, clearly getting weaker from the bloodloss but still with eyes practically pleading for the bostonian to get the job done. It seemed like the sharpshooter would gladly take his chances of dying right there if it meant he could see the Spy die as well.  
His words struck something in the kid, the plea to go back home. It sent Dennis right back to the night before, where he and Mick had practically made the van into their own little nest, their special place. If the Spook walked away from this, undoubtedly would he ruin that perfect picture. No, he wouldn't get the chance to. There was really only one thing to do.

As the spook spoke up, the blonde's eyes locked firmly on him and suddenly his gaze became sharp and hateful again. He had to get it done. In a brisk pace and eyes locked on his target, Dennis walked over to the unsteady Spy who was struggling to get up. In a swift move Dennis swooped the Kukri from the floor and toog a firm grip of it's handle, giving the BLU bastard another hard punch to knock him right back down before straddling his chest. He had to get this done fast, so he could take Mick back to safety and get him aid. And if he didn't succeed...at least he would give the australian the pleasure of seeing his worst enemy be decapitated.

Placing a firm hand on the spook's forehead to force it in place and hold it steady, Dennis was just about to swing the blade when he stopped, for only a second. Suddenly he ripped the Spy's mask right off, exposing for the first time the ugly face hiding underneath it. It was bonechilling staring down at the face - even if it was bruised and covered in blood - belonging to the man who'd abused him worse than he could ever imagine, and made both Dennis' and Mick's lives hell. Still the damned spook just smiled, mockingly, although he knew very well he was about to die. He probably thought he'd had a good, fun run anyway.

Clenching his jaw and tightening his grip of the kukri, Dennis grabbed onto the frenchman's short hair and held his head against the ground. He wanted it done and over with, Mick's draining life constantly on his mind. He couldn't enjoy the moment, couldn't savor it, he just wanted it done.

With one swing Dennis attempted to cut the spy's head clean off. Being unfamiliar with kukris and swords, or knives in general except for the small pocket ones, his aim wasn't all there. With an unpleasant sound the sharp blade cut through the side of the frenchman's neck, but down and hit his collar bone. He was bleeding, profusely, and Dennis could feel his body twitch and tense in pain. The gargling noises coming from the blu bastard, that would've sounded like music to Dennis before he realized his partner was hurt, were now only causing him stress. Damn it why wouldn't the guy just die!  
Sucking in a sharp deep breath and raising the bloodied kukri again for another swing, Dennis kept his eyes drilled into the dying frenchman, not even fully aware of the blood staining his own hands and clothes as he brung the kukri down again for another blow.

This time, the spy's head came clean off, and his desprate gargling stopped in an instant as his lifelss body went compleyely limp. The blood was flowing from the spooks' corpse, and quite frankly the entire hall looked like one bloody mess. Not to mention Dennis, his clothes and hands crimson red. He didn't even realize the small splatter on his face. It was done, just like that, but he felt no joy. He was afraid.

Abruptly the kid just stood up and dropped the knife. He didn't have time to savor his kill or bask in the victory, because there was still a very real threat present. The bostonian turned to his partner, slumped against the wall but still conscious, and rushed over to him.  
"Mick! We gotta get you fixed up man, come on. iCome on/i get up!"  
With his arms around the aussie, Dennis tried to help him up and keep him steady. It was too far to their own base, they wouldn't make it with Mick in this state. Their only shot seemed to be the BLU med bay, where theycould steal some bandages and whatnot to at least give Mick a fighting change before he bled out like the spy.

"Don't quit on me, not now" The kid huffed in a whisper, almost to himself. He was terrified, really, that the knife had gone deep and cut something vital.

It was done. The Spy was gone, forever, dead, lifeless. It was ifinally/i over. The hunter exhaled a heavy sigh of relief as he weakly stared at his partner, they could finally get some rest, finally be with one another without having to worry so damn much. It was the greatest feeling in the world, of course within the next week or so another man would come to the base to replace the dead Spook, but he wouldn't be the monster that lay before him, evil of his magnitude wasn't a common thing, something that the sniper valued greatly. Though there was no love lost between the two opposing teams there never really was any personal hate, at the end of the day these were men paid to kill each other and that was dangerous enough on its own, throwing personal problems and hatred into the mix caused nothing but errors in judgement and a higher rate of overall team failure. The Australian was glad that the hate was over, it just wasn't professional.

Mick stifled a groaned as his partner helped him stand back up properly, the torn skin around his wound stretching uncomfortably as he did so. The bushman said nothing, his amber eyes were still fixated on the bloodied corpse of the frenchman, he suited being dead far better than he suited being alive and although he didn't show it, the bushman was beyond happy. No one would miss the man, no one. He doubted even the Spies own team would miss him for anything other than his skills, there are some people who you can never befriend and the frenchman was one of those people.

Before Dennis could direct him too far away from the corpse Mick halted the youngster and made his way over to the Spies head, his grey eyes although open were overcast with a misty cloud, it was almost as if the natural light refused to shine into them for fear of reflecting some form of spirit within the man. With what little strength the hunter could muster he slammed his boot down onto the frenchmans head, crushing his already battered skull into the ground, the sound his eyes and brain-matter mashing into the floor was nothing short of music to the Snipers ears. Shakily Mick bent over, picking up a small shattered fragment of the corpses skull and placed it in his pocket.  
"Cant leave...Without a trophy"

The two men slowly made their way further into the interior of the BLU base, following the dimly lit signs for the med bay, Micks gaze flicked around the walls, it was so strange being this far inside of the enemies base, any other day he would be up in his tower where the majority of the combat was taking place, the fact it was so quiet was pretty strange. It did bring some comfort however knowing that they really were alone, the Spy was the only real member of the team that stayed in both bases for extended amounts of time, now that he was out of the way the two men were left completely to their own devices.

Eventually the two got to the medical bay, the place was similar to their own med bay, bright lights, bleach smell, white-washed walls.  
The tired sniper was drawn to the nearest bed and flopped down onto it, it was a relief to rest his legs and spend a few seconds doing nothing before the sound of his partner routing through cabinets broke thorough the silence.  
Mick hissed as he removed his outer vest, the fibbers of his shirt underneath tugging at some dried blood. The hunter stared at his partner, worry was plastered across his face as he disappeared behind the older mans back to survey his wound, after a few moments of silence Mick spoke up, "I've been through worse...Stick a bandaid over it and lets go...W-we shouldn't be this far into the base"

Despite Mick being weakened by the bloodloss, the guy still managed to pull away from Dennis' secure grip as the kid had started leading his partner through the hall, to where he thought the medbay would be. As the sniper turned back around and began to walk toward the blood-drenched corpse, Dennis wondered just what the hell was going through his mind. The spy was dead! What point was it to go have a closer look? Did the sight really give him such kicks?  
"Mick what the hell, c'mon! The youngster was growing increasingly frustrated and impatient. Ever second they wasted gave Mick's health a beating, and the more the guy walked and overall moved the worse he risked hurting himself more, or causing even more bleeding.

What the bushman did, however, was not to simply have a closer look. The scout winced at the sound of the impact by Mick's boot, right on the dead spy's severed head. What were his shows made of, fucking steel? Blood and brain matter splattered across the floor, and Dennis was sure that whoever found the scene would be both appalled and know without a doubt, that the killing hadn't been the usual kind. It hadn't been a quick bullet to the head for the sake of winning the pointless war they were fighting, it was evident that this was a murder of passion. It was personal.

Watching silently as his partner for god knows what reason stuck his fingers into the pile of blood, brains, hair and gunk and what have you, fishing out a piece of the Spy's skull, Dennis wasn't entirely sure what to feel about it. Quite honestly he wanted no part of the Spy close to him, living or dead ,ever again. The guy's corpse should be burned and his ashes sent to mars. But like any hunter, he supposed Mick had a thing for collecting trophies from his kills. Although this kill had been Dennis'.

The two made their way through the quiet base. Outside they could hear faint sounds of fighting still going on, the BLU's oblivious to the fact that they had just lost an essential part of their team, in a rather gruesome manner. Dennis didn't think about it. He wasn't all there, mentally, in fact, he felt like he had tunnel vision and his senses were dulled. He wasn't sure what to feel. Right now, his only focus was really to get Mick wrapped up with some bandages so they could get the hell out of there.

Perhaps it was shock. The inability to fully understand what had just went down, and how big of a thing it was. He'd offed the one person on this earth he heated the very most. The man was dead, undoubtedly, in fact he couldn't be much more dead than he was now. But Dennis was still coming to from his intense frenzy, all the explosive emotions that had made him blind with anger and act out of impulse, were calmed and his adrenaline stilled. Neither of them said much as they slowly made their way to the medbay, there was such a strange calmth to the moment. Like a hush after the Spy's soul - if he even had one - had parted from this world.

Dennis got Mick up on one of the many medical cots when they finally reached the medbay. He sat the man down and started searching through the Medic's many drawers and cupboards, taking what he thought he needed to fix Mick up. His only focus now was to stop the bleeding. Stop the bleeding, get back to their base, and then finally take the time to breathe. Soon Mick would be on his way to healing up again and then they could finally celebrate their success, their ivictory/i over that disgusting spook.

With rolls of bandages in his arms Dennis hurried back to the sniper, and got up behind him to see the injury better. He pulled up Mick's shirt carefully to not hurt him, and took a look at the exposed wound. It was the last harm the Spy had ever done to them. Dennis just hoped it was a lot less deep than it looked. He got ready to start tending to the wound by wiping away some blood, when Mick's voice caught his attention. The scout looked up. He couldn't see his partners face, so instead he just looked at the back of his head in surprise, and irritation. Mick always thought he was invincible, like nothing could touch him and even when it did he acted like it was fine. Like hell it was, had it been Dennis with a stab in his ribs the aussie would never have just "put a bandaid on it" and sent the kid on his way. Of course, Dennis wasn't about to follow his orders either.

"You're not leaving here until I got these bandages on you, got that?" The kid said sternly, while he began wrapping Mick's chest. It didn't take too long, even if it was a process, but the youngster had got better and bandaging. He wasn't fond of going to the medic, and really preferred to just steal some bandages and wrap his injuries himself.

Only once the bandages were on, secured and just tight enough, did Dennis feel relief. At least now the bleeding was stopped, and they could go back ihome/i. It was only then that the previous events really began to register in the kid's brain, and he could allow himself to feel good, that the threat was gone. Maybe now, things would be better. In fact he knew they were, the Spy was nothing like the rest of the BLU team, those guys weren't completely batshit insane.

"So..guess it's over now,huh.." Dennis spoke quietly as he pulled Mick's shirt down, his eyes looking distant as he replayed the Spy's death in his mind. He wasn't sure how to feel about being able to cut a mans head off with no second thoughts, but he found no other emotion than just delight that the frenchman was dead, and when his conscious told him the slaying had been an act of brutality Dennis' mind simply stated that the Spy had deserved it. And so much more.

"We freakin' did it" He sighed breathlessly, the feeling of complete relief that it was over suddenly taking over him, it was overwhelming. All the fear and worry, he paranoia that their every step was being watched by the BLU devil, was gone. Dennis leaned his forehead against Mick's shoulder for a moment, thankful that all had gone considerably well. It could have been so much worse.

"Lets go. Sooner we get out of here, sooner we can celebrate."  
Fact was, Mick and Dennis wouldn't be the only ones to rejoice the Spy's death, even if they would be a lot more happy about it than the rest of their team. But, by killing the Soldier off hours the way he had, the Spy had gained himself personal enemies in all of the RED team. Everyone would be happy to know the fucker was dead.


	20. Chapter 20

Mick sighed in as his partner helped pull his shirt back down,  
"yeah...yeah I guess its over...We did it." The sniper looked at Dennis and grinned "no worries now, eh?" He was right, now that the spy was out of the way the two really didn't have much to worry about except hiding their love affair from their own team mates, there would be no more worry, no more hiding from some invisible monster. They were ifree/i.

On the way back out of the base the two men passed the bloodied mess that was the spies corpse, neither of them looked at it, he wasn't worth their time, especially not after death. Mick growled under his breath, absently holding his ribs as he passed the BLU mans body, at least that was another good thing to come out of the whole situation, the Sniper never get a knife in the back again. Well, atleast not from ithat/i Spy.

No sooner had the two got out of the enemies base the war alarm sounded, signalling that the days battle had ended, the result was a draw, neither RED or BLU had won, though for both the Scout and Sniper the day had been a pretty huge success.  
It wasn't long before the team were safely back inside their own base and waiting to be seen by the Medic, Mick never really liked the medic, he was always so rough, he never really cared if the patient was in pain while he did his thing, it wasn't that Mick was scared of the german, he just...ireally/i didn't like him.

The two men sat quietly on a medical cot while the Medic tended to the others who got there before him, with the German it really didn't matter about how serious the injury, it was first come first served. Much to Dennis' annoyance which Mick was quick to reassure him of,  
"I'm fine honestly, in fact its not even that necessary..."  
The sniper winced as he moved to get up off of the bed, immediately deciding it was a bad decision before slowly lowering himself back down onto the cot. Mick rested his head in his hands and sulked, he was glad they were back in their own base but at the same time he really just wanted to celebrate, drink himself stupid and get back to the van for a celebratory fuck. Instead he was sat bleeding through his bandages and about to get prodded and poked by the Medic. Wonderful.

"So vhats wrong..?" The two men looked up simultaneously as their medic routed through the draw opposite them.  
Mick sighed heavily as he listened to his partner explain what had happened before interrupting, "i'm fine...I just want to go back to my van"  
The german grumbled under his breath and yanked up Micks vest to take a look at his injury, the snipers eyes widened in a mixture of pain and surprise as the Medic peeled away his bandages and looked at the wound, after a few minutes he came back into sight to do more rummaging around in the draws before getting a bottle of anti bac, a needle and some thread.

Micks tired eyes stared into the scouts crystal blue ones, he looked beautiful, so handsome, now that the worry of the Spy had lifted from the younger mans mind he looked so much more relaxed, so much more calm. It really was an amazing feeling, knowing that in a little while they could snuggle down into bed and not have anything to worry about anymore, they could take more time out to appreciate one another. Honestly the Australian couldn't wait.

After half an hour of cursing under his breath, gasping in pain and being half scared out of his skin from the medics surprise prods and pokes he was finally given the all clear to go. The medic removed his bloodied gloves and handed the Sniper a small pack of pain killers,  
"take these. Ease the pain but will make you drowsy. clean the wound daily. Sleep it off. You'll be combat ready in three days."

Mick smiled at his doctor, it was a completely false smile and the german probably knew it, but he needed some form of acknowledgement, otherwise the next time he might very well just not help.  
"Three days eh? Cheers, doc." With a polite tip of his hat the sniper turned to face his partner and walked towards the med bays exit, once he was sure that he was far enough away from the Medic the hunter let out a long sigh, his body slumping considerably as he smiled tiredly at Dennis who still looked worried,  
"c'mon lets get back to the van...I'm gagging for a cuppa coffee"

Dennis wasn't a patient person, and he certainly wasn't a patient person when someone he cared for had got jabbed with a knife and still had to wait in line to get aid. Nevermind that the rest of the teammates before them, were a lot worse off seeing as they had been in the middle of the the shitstorm. Quite frankly Dennis couldn't care less about them. Mick's constant reassurance did no good, either, it only made the youngster give his partner a glare.  
"Oh, you're ifine/i huh? We'll see how ifine/i you are when that gets infected with some mutated virus or some shit. You don't know where that knife's been! You'll probably swell up like a balloon and leak puss like a freakin' faucet...like hell I'm gonna touch you then, you're living in quarantine until you get better."  
Thanks to the fact that Mick was still conscious and had managed to walk all the way back to the base without collapsing, the young blonde wasn't too worried about his health. Mick wasn't dying - thank the heavens-, but he still needed aid.

Dennis hated going to the medic as much as the next person, so really he could understand Mick's urge to leave and take his chances with the injury healing by itself. However, Dennis wasn't willing to take the chance.  
"Sheesh stop being a pussy Mick. You'll feel better once he's done, I promise ya." Giving the sharpshooter's shoulder a little pat, the bostonian met the aussies gaze. His blue eyes weren't nearly as concerned and filled with stress and tensity as they had been before, and there even was a sort of calm to his voice, even when he did try to sound stern. The sheer stress the Spy had caused the kid with his mere existence, was now gone. And thank god for that.

OF course, once it was Mick's turn to get aid, Dennis made it his job to tell the german how everything had happened, since he knew Mick would just downplay it. But it was still with distaste and discomfort he watched the rough Medic get to word. The man could help, that much was true, but he was a brute through the process and almost seemed to take pleasure in it. Like he secretly had a grudge against everyone on the team and just iwanted/i to make them hurt. Truthfully Dennis just wanted to shout straight out to him to take I easy, since the pain on Mick's face was more than obvious. But, the kid had to be quiet, and he had to show little to no empathy for Mick's pain. Their relationship and closeness was getting weird looks already, but thankfully everyone seemed to just think it was a situation where Mick had taken the young wild one under his wing, as sort of a father-figure, and nobody probably disapproved of this thought since, hopefully then, the calculating and calm Snipe could teach the motor-mouthed bostonian to calm down.

Dennis' didn't like seeing or hearing Mick going through pain, he didn't like hearing him gasp and groan in agony. But a small consolation was that after this visit Mick wouldn't have to go back, Dennis could help clean the injury and in a few days the australian would be back to his old self.

Finally they were out of there, and slowly making their way through the corridor leaving the med bay behind. Mick seemed capable enough to walk mostly by himself, even if it was a slow walk and his overall movements were a little bit more stiff than usual, but he was alive and really that was all that mattered. Sticking close to his friend, Dennis was always on the ready to help support him if the older's legs would fail him. Honestly the young man was as keen to get back to the van as his partner was, he couldn't wait for them to be alone in the safety of their van, totally relaxed and able to breathe and feel the calmth of this place, now that the Spy had been taken care of.  
With a little, teasing chuckle Dennis looked up at the tall sniper with a grin.  
"Yeah you look like you really could use a cup, snipes."

Maybe it was just in his head, but Dennis thought the world outside looked brighter, the air felt cleaner and the sun felt warmer. He liked this. The feeling of...well, no worry really. They had overcome their greatest obstacle yet and with minor injury – lets face it, it could've been ia lot/i worse.  
Soon the couple arrived at the trusty van, their little home as it were, and Dennis was quick to slip inside. He felt safe there, even if logically it wasn't safer than any other place in the base, but there was just a feeling of security. He was just about to throw himself down on the bed to finally relax, when his eyes spotted the mess they had left behind. Oh, right. The sheets.

"Ah, shit." Dennis sighed. Well there was nothing else to do than change the sheets. And maybe burn these ones for good measure.  
"Man, now I gotta change the sheets just 'cause you made a mess, iMick/i. What was that good for, jesus." Throwing his hands up in a gesture of over-dramatic frustration the blonde peeked over his shoulder and sent a teasing smirk the Sniper's way. He knew, technically, that Mick wasn't the only one responsible for the mess. However, Dennis had been the one to initiate it all, sure, but the mess staining their sheets was all a direct result of the bushman's actions. So really, it was Mick's fault.

Dennis reluctantly pulled the dirty sheets off the bed, and made sure to bundle them up good so every stain there was, was hidden deep inside. They had to clean these where everyone else cleaned clothes and sheets, and risk was someone would see. Better safe than sorry.

Collecting a new set of sheets – while having sat Mick down on the couch to let the guy rest – Dennis began making the bed. Now, one may think that a kid who wasn't home a lot growing up, and would crash on peoples couches or wherever he could find, really, wouldn't know how to make a bed. And, that would make sense, and it would be true. However, since Dennis came to teufort he'd been forced to learn, and that was probably the only good thing to come out of the place. There was structure, discipline. Nobody would change his sheets for him, so if he didn't do it he'd be the one to sleep in a dirty bed. Same went for clothes, and his room had to be cleaned for efficiency's sake so he could easily and quickly find all his gear and necessities. Dennis was still sloppy with it, his room could be a mess sometimes and he probably didn't go to wash clothes and sheets as often as he should, but he still did it.

It didn't take too long before their bed was made, new sheets in place and by god if it didn't look inviting just then. But before he lay down, Dennis realized just how drenched in blood he was. It had dried, but he was sure he'd stain the sheets anyway. Funny, how he hadn't even realized until then that he was covered in the Spy's blood. Now he really wanted to get it off. But he couldn't be arsed to go all the way back to his room to get a new set of clothes. He just wanted to kick back and relax.

With a little grunt, the freckle-faced teen began unwrapping his bloodied handwraps. He noticed his hand looked a little swollen, and it did give him some pain, but it would probably get better in a couple days. Kicking off his shoes and grabbing the bottom of his shirt, Dennis caught a glimpse of his partner in the corner of his eye, and the kid's blue eyes swiftly looked on the australian. Those amber eyes were observing, and looking pleased, but it just sent a somewhat embarrassed blush up on Dennis' face.  
"Do you ihave/i to stare?" He complained and turned his back modestly as he pulled off his shirt. The worst of the blood had been on his upper body, and the few stains he had on his pants didn't look like they would rub off too much, but once he got the chance he should probably clean them too.

Mick smirked tiredly at his bostonians grouchy remark, well sure, he didn't ihave/i to stare...But it was bloody hard not to, the kid was beautiful to look at. His silky, pale skin seemed to reflect the last rays of the evening sun that shone through the windows of the camper van. The snipers features relaxed and became more expressionless as he turned his attention to the Scouts burned side, it had healed nicely, the scarring now a light peach colour compared to the rest of his flawless skin.

"Ngh...Bloody hell..." The hunter groaned as he stood back up, the stitches on his side pulling on the injury. For the amount of discomfort he was feeling three days really didn't seem like enough time to just sit back and take some down time. In fact, there wasn't iany/i real time to recuperate, tomorrow the men would be given the new battle schedule that would prepare them with details of the kind of objectives they would need to accomplish in order to succeed, after that some training. Two days later he and the rest of his team members would be met by their new replacement. Busy busy busy.

Mick made sure to ignore the bostonians worried face as he groggily walked over to the freshly made bed, hissing slightly as he removed his shirt and laid down on the mattress. The feeling of the new bed covers cooling his battered skin brought near immediate relief to the bushman. It felt good to lay down, to just keep still and feel the tension ebb away.  
The older mans amber eyes flicked over the Scouts, studying his face briefly before speaking up, "so. After training tomorrow, there anything you want to do? Not like there is anything ito/i do...But uh..."  
Mick hand a hand through his scruffy hair, breathing out a sigh, "...Its over for real now, isn't it. The bloody spooks corpse can't even be that cold yet and i'm already fidgeting...Its so icalm/i..."

Mick directed his gaze up to the ceiling of the van, it wasn't a bad thing that the Spy was dead, far from it, he couldn't be happier that the disgusting french fuck was probably still being mopped up off of the floor by one of his unlucky team members who will have pulled the short straw for the task. What made the Sniper on edge was that he had been constantly alert for what felt like forever, always on guard, always looking over his shoulder and Dennis' too. Now that the Spook was dead all of the caution, all of the drama, it had come to an absolute stand still. All the blood-thirstiness, all the murderous thoughts, Mick no longer had anyone to point them at. He didn't want to admit it, but deep down he had missed these feelings, the feeling of excitement, of wanting to kill, having something to look forward to, someone to idestroy/i.

The Sniper groaned again, both pain and frustration running through his body as he turned over onto his side. He couldn't explain it, but it had felt like he had been placid for too long, too passive in his nature due to recent events. The grisly reminders of his boot baring down on the Spies skull sent shivers of murderous satisfaction down the older mans spine. If he could do that every day for the rest of his life he would be a happy chap.  
Mick's face visibly lightened as he noticed the Scout watching him,  
"its been a long day, eh kid? Lets get some rest...I reckon we need it..."

The older mans amber eyes slid shut, the day was done. The Spy really wasn't coming back, this was a good thing and the sniper would soon have plenty more heads to explode whenever the next battle was. This wasn't a side of him that he wanted Dennis to get to know, but the fact of the matter was the it was a part of who he was, he was a killer, a murderer, and unbeknownst to the both of them Mick would be called to do more killing earlier than he would expect. But for now, at least, all that was left to do was sleep.

With the grumpy embarrassment in his eyes turning into worry and caution, Dennis watched Mick struggle to get up, clearly being in pain as he moved. The older man managed to walk himself over to the bed, but barely, and it really made the kid feel discomfort. By the looks of it Mick was getting into bed, which was good, but if he needed aid he should just say so.  
"Hey take it easy old man. You aint twenty anymore." Dennis scolded gently, a warning tone to his voice and he reached over to help his older partner when he noticed the bushman's hiss of pain as he attempted to take the shirt off. His back and side must really be bothering him. As soon as the sniper landed himself on the bed, however, his scarred face took on a look of relief. It did look like heaven, just laying back and letting sleep take over, honestly Dennis was exhausted too. The day had been tiring for him, his bursts of energy and adrenaline had really worn the kid out.

For a bit Dennis watched his partner, not entirely sure what to think of his expression. He didn't look happy, or victorious, his expression was...undefinable. Was something bothering him maybe? Or, perhaps he was just tired, and had a little trouble really taking in everything that had happened that day, just like Dennis had.

Looking down, he blonde sat down on the edge of the bed. He thought to himself what they could possibly do. Well, except fuck and just shoot things for the sake of practice, there wasn't a whole lot to entertain them with, and seeing as they were both physically not up for another round of reckless whoopee - Dennis' ass was still killing him and Mick's injury was still fresh and aching - they really only had one option. There was no goal anymore, no plotting, no plans, no desirous thoughts of how to kill off the Spy that had been pestering them for so long. Hell they barely had anything to talk about!  
"We don't have to do nothing...could just hang out here, you know, chill...like we never freakin' do. Think you could use it." Dennis glanced over at the older man, his eyes suggesting that he wanted Mick to take a hint.

Maybe, for once, they would have a day that was remotely peaceful. Time for themselves, just them two, to hang out and just be. No obligations, no obsessive thoughts of murdering the Spy and no worries of being watched or followed. Maybe for once, there'd be a sense of normality in the hectic, dramatic play that was their lives.  
"If you get too bored I guess we could always do some target practicing with your rifle. I'm getting so good I could take your job." With a small smirk Dennis stood up and reached down to unbuckle his belt. Sleep sounded good to him right then, but he wasn't going to sleep in his pants. Even if it was awkward undressing with Mick's eyes stuck to him like a wolf on it's prey.

Looking over, Dennis saw his partner was laying there, eyes closed and softly suggesting they get some rest. Now that was a great idea, only the idiot had forgot to take his bloodied pants off. Oh just great.  
"Jesus Mick take your freakin' pants off. Damn it you're messin' up the sheets again..!" The freckle-faced teen complained, wasting no time 'helping' his lazy inconsiderate hobo of a partner get his pants off. The youngster then made sure to pull up the covers and tuck the australian in properly so he wouldn't get cold, the last thing he needed was to get sick on top of all the shit he'd already put his body through, and soon enough the Scout was safely curled up under the covers as well, right in Mick's arms.

Dennis reached over to turn off the lamp, even though it wasn't fully dark out yet so the van was still slightly lit up, and the two could see each other just fine in the light of the sunset.  
"I can't wait 'til you heal up, so we can get out of this dump. I swear I'm going crazy here. Nothing to do, nothing to gain from this shit. You better hurry and heal up Mick so we can set out in this thing you call a van ad see the world already. You promised me you would, don't try backing out now."  
Arms wrapped around the aussie - though Dennis was careful not to put pressure on his injury - the blonde got into a comfortable position, eyes closed and head rubbing slightly against Mick's chest to find the perfect position, where his head got support and he could find both warmth and comfort from Mick's torso. Hearing his heartbeat was as soothing as a lullaby, even if Dennis would never admit it. He felt like a kid with a blanket, he simply couldn't sleep unless he had it there with him.

"Night, Mick."  
With a tired sight and his muscles relaxing, his body and mind unwinding from the hectic event-filled day, Dennis allowed himself to slip off into sleep. He hoped Mick would feel better the next day already, the sooner they got away from this place the better. They could find their own home, do whatever the hell they wanted, not work for nobody, not answer to no-one. Just them two and their lives. It sounded like heaven, and soon it would be their reality.

It was quite a while after Dennis said goodnight before the sniper got to sleep, his mind was busy reflecting on what his companion has told him, that he couldn't wait to leave the place and travel the world with him. A nice idea, hell it was a wonderful idea. But that's all it was, ian idea/i.

Mick couldn't leave Teufort, he wasn't even sure he would even if he was able to do so. He had spent so long in this place, so long waking up each day knowing he was getting vast amount of money to kill people. The money wasn't the issue, he'd lived without it countless times, no what was the issue was the inability to murder on an almost day to day basis. Business was slow for him before joining the establishment, people just didn't seem to want other people dead anymore and any that did were often a world away from Australia, it often got to the point where Mick was spending more money actually getting to the place he needed to be than getting paid to kill the target. No, he couldn't leave this place. There were just too many risks.

It was now morning and for once Mick was the first to wake up, he hadn't had a good nights rest, the wound on his side felt like hell though the medic had warned him that the day after he would feel rough. He guessed it was to be expected. As gently as he could the Australian wriggled out from under the Scout who was still sleeping peacefully on top of him, it was time to get up, but a couple more minutes in bed wouldn't hurt the kid. Today would be a steady one, the war schedule never lasted very long and was just to highlight what days the men would be fighting, training would take up most of the day which wasn't too much hassle though with an injury no doubt training would be slow, and that wasn't even taking into account if Dennis let the bushman train in his condition.

After slipping on his pants the older man approached the bed and gently woke up his partner, "come on, kid. Time to get up..."  
The scouts crystal blue eyes opened slowly, blinking away the sleep a few times before greeting the bushman with a good morning.  
Mick smiled warmly as he handed the bostonian over his clothes, "mornin' to you too, the day's started without us so help me get my shirt on n lets head out."

The battle schedule was over and done with in no time and it was soon onto breakfast before the days training begun, as usual Mick has a full English breakfast, consisting of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage and toast. It felt like ages since he had eaten a proper meal and my god did it feel amazing to eat such awesome food again. Dennis on the other hand stuck to his regular apple, the Australian frowned slightly as he gulped down a mouthful of his food, "you really ought to eat more, y'know. Never gonna get muscles eating that irabbit food/i." For once the scout didn't respond, instead simply shrugging off his partners complaint and continued to eat, Mick sighed and continued to pick at his food, giving the occasional polite greeting as other members of his team came in for breakfast. One of which was a very pale looking Engineer.

The hunter eyed up his team mate suspiciously as he dragged himself into the mess hall, his eyes darting around wildly. Mick had seen this behaviour a few times before and his expression darkened considerably as he continued to watch the Texan before leaving his breakfast and walking up to the techno-freak. The new Engineer had arrived a week or so after the previous ones death due to Dennis' attempt to leave the base, none of the team had really gotten to know him since arriving in Teufort. He always kept to himself, tinkering with various robotics, developing new technologies, he was a pretty smart guy.

Mick casually sat down next to the Engineer, greeting him warmly as he did so. After a few minutes of silence the bushman leaned forward, his face questioning as he spoke, "something the matter?"  
For a couple of moments the Engie remained silent, his gaze flicking too and from the floor before settling on the Snipers face,  
"I can't do this anymore, Sniper."  
Mick raised an eyebrow, "whad'ya mean you can't do this anymore?"  
The Texan waved his arms erratically, "iThis!/i This whole thing! I'm not made for murdering people! I...I want out."  
The assassin relaxed back into his seat, his face now completely emotionless, "ya sure this is what you want?"  
The engineer nodded,  
"And you think the admin will just let you walk out of here? You've only just got here. That's not gonna happen, mate."  
The american frowned worriedly, desperation clear on his face, "th-then i'll escape. The money here is amazing...And you people are great, but shit, I-I'm just not built to ikill/i"

The two men sat in silence for a while, Mick watched his partner engaging in some idle small talk with the Demoman, it was nice to actually see the kid talking to other team mates for once. Eventually the hunter regained focus on the Engineer, he knew what was going to happen and there really wasn't much left to say, the man had made up his mind, there wasn't any amount of convincing that would make him stay and quite frankly it wasn't in Mick's job description to convince team mates to stay, it was his job to kill. Briefly spotting that Dennis had stood up from the table and was making his way over to the two the bushman gave the other man a pat on the shoulder before standing up and leaving with his partner.  
iGood luck escaping, mate./i

The sniper approached his lover, noticing the quizzical look on his face which the older man was swift to acknowledge, "Engie's having a bit of trouble with his sentries, been up all night trying to get them working so he's a bit flustered." For once, one of Mick's lies hadn't been detected by the Scout and the subject was soon forgotten. There was no point wasting time thinking about it, the hunter knew what he would be called on to do, it was just a matter of iwhen/i.  
"So then," Mick smiled warmly at his bostonian as they made their way outside, "ready to train?"

For Dennis, sleep came easier that night than it had in a long long time. He relaxed, and slept undisturbed even by nightmares, for the entirety of the night. Usually ever since the Spy had come into their lives on a more personal note, disturbing the peace and traumatizing Dennis, the kid had had nightmares. Rather frequent, that would wake him up or at least make his body unable to fully relax even when he was fast asleep. Now, he slept like a goddamned log. Mick was even up and about before him the next morning, something that was very new.

After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Dennis couldn't help but flash his partner a rather genuine smile, greeting him good morning and admiring the sight of seeing Mick's face lit up by the morning sun. It was so peaceful, so calm. To think things could change so drastically, just by the loss of one petty life. It really made a man think.

The scout was soon on his legs, helping his partner dress himself and putting his own clothes on. As it was surprisingly enough a little chilly that morning, Dennis slipped on his track jacket so as he wouldn't get cold. He thought to himself that it would be efficient if he just hauled all his shit over to the van, at least a few changes of clothes should be available, and all his weapons too. Might as well, it wasn't like he was going to go back to his room. The goal was, after all, that at the end of the month once they got their paycheck, the two would be out of there. Driving the van straight through the fence and giving the base one last middle finger as they drove off to start their new lives, somewhere else. Somewhere better.

Breakfast wasn't particularly exciting, just the same old thing really. Though, there was a sense of relief and victory. Everyone seemed just a bit happier, or perhaps simply satisfied, even though many of their team mates had got hurt in yesterday's fight. Mick and Dennis ad taken their sweet time with the Spy, after all, and hadn't been lending a single thought to helping their brethren. Everyone was happy the Spy was gone for good, at least. It was a victory in itself, and worth every cut and bruise.

Getting himself a banana and an apple, swallowed down with some Bonk, Dennis was sat next to his partner and glancing out the window. Only when Mick made it a point to complain about his eating habit once again, did the youngster look at him. He honestly couldn't be bothered today, somehow his fuse was a lot longer than it usually was.  
"What, trying to get me to end up looking like Mr. Heartattack over there?" He sent the Heavy a glance, as the large russian sat down with his plate full of food that could feed several normal-sized people.  
"My guns are good 'nuff. Besides, can't have too much extra weight if I'm gonna run around, how you think I'm so fast?" Flexing his arm cockily to show he was happy enough with the muscles he did have, Dennis proceeded to eat his all-fruit breakfast. Mick could think what he liked, it wasn't like Dennis' weight was such an issue that it ticked the australian off anyway. Not enough to keep him from shagging the youngster like there was no tomorrow, anyway.

Suddenly, the rather new engineer entered the mess hall. He looked pale, and his face was just about the only one in the room that wasn't smiling at least a little bit. He looked like he was sick, or had seen a ghost. With somewhat creased brows, Dennis observed the hardhat. The man was younger than their last engineer, he couldn't be more than ten years older than Dennis at most. It made him the youngest on the team, except for the Scout. He seemed new to all of this, didn't take up much space and didn't act as noisy or speak with as much bravado as most of the team members did, in order to contain their hierarchy. No, this fellow seemed more passive. Smart, intelligent and skilled with his little machines undoubtedly, but he wasn't a brute, not merchenary-material.

Surprised, Dennis looked up when Mick all the sudden stood up and walked off. He hadn't finished his breakfast yet, and he didn't say a word, where was he off to? Instead of coming after, Dennis watched as his partner walked over to the pale-looking engineer across the table, and sat down next to him. It wasn't like the bushman to be social and want to make friends, what was he doing?

Due to the noise of everyone small-talking with one-another as everyone enjoyed their breakfast, Dennis couldn't quite make out what was being said between the engineer and the Sniper. But when the american suddenly blurted out in sheer desperation, that he couldn't stand this, couldn't ido/i this anymore, did Dennis hear and his ears perked up. So, he'd had enough already? God he sounded like a big whining baby. What did he even think when he was offered the job, it wasn't like it was a unknown fact that committing murder was a large part of this job. Had the engineer just thought it would be a dance on roses, building his little machines and getting his money, without having to go against the enemy toe to toe? He'd have to beat quite a few heads in with his wrench, even if the texan stayed far behind and mostly focused on building sentrys. He could never get away from the fact he'd have to protect himself close up with violence, eventually.

"iJesus/i lady, who let you in here? In case you didn't notice this is a warzone, not a knitting club! You really thought they'd pay you all that money just to build your little machine? Pfft. Only way out is you either get murdered or, if you can, survive 'til your contract ends. Til then you're stuck here, so get comfortable."  
Taking a big ol bite of his apple, Dennis leaned back on his chair and drilled his cold gaze into he engineer, who looked like a scared rabbit staring back. There was something about him that Dennis didn't like, perhaps the simple fact that the new engineer reminded the kid of his part in the old engineer's death.

Now, while Dennis wanted out just as much as the engineer, their reasons differed greatly. In Dennis' mind the texan was weak, a wimp. He couldn't itake/i the place, but Dennis could. He just didn't want to anymore. He wasn't crying over it like some overgrown baby, he wasn't complaining about how horrible it was and how much he missed his mommy. No, he could survive just fine at the base, he was just tired of the place. He wanted his own life, and he wanted to make his own choices. There was also something in the blonde that almost instinctively caused him to jump on the submissive engineer. To survive home in Boston, Dennis had been forced to abuse others' weaknesses and push them down as far as he could, to remain on top. He couldn't help but do the same now, and every time someone showed the slightest bit of weakness. The strongest would survive, and the rest would learn their place.

Honestly the scout felt little sympathy for the engineer, even though they shared the same desperate want to get out. He wasn't even sure the guy had the balls to even try, but Dennis sure did. Just a few more weeks and then they could ditch this wretched place, and he'd have no problem leaving it and everyone in the base behind. Truthfully Dennis couldn't care less what happened to either one of them.

As Mick got up to leave, Dennis tossed the leftovers of his eaten apple into the bin and gave the texan one last demeaning look, before turning his back and joining up with the sniper. The freckle-faced teen buried his hands in his track jacket pockets, and gave a snort.  
"Engie shouldn't have been replaced by some wimpy doofus like this guy."  
Dennis shook his head, remembering just what a respectable man their old engineer had been. Brave, fearless, intelligent, and always so calm in nature. Hard to think a man like that could be so deadly.

The whole ordeal was soon wiped from Dennis' mind. He wasn't gonna bother himself with other people's problems, and it was the engineer's issue if he wasn't happy at the base. If he wanted to escape so be it, Dennis wouldn't miss him and his replacement would hopefully be more of a man than that guy.  
"'Course! When aint I ready? No running or shit like that for you though, you can practice in your tower or whatever...can't hurt yourself much sitting on your ass like you do half the time, at least. Lucky you, huh? Don't have to run around and keep yourself fit and flawless unlike me."  
With a teasing grin the youngster poked at his partner's side, hinting that he thought the role of "Sniper" was a title for the lazy man who just sat and waited for the right time to strike, sipping his coffee and passing the time reading magazines. Of course he landed himself a playful swat to the back of the head for his insult.

Training was the same old as always, though Dennis made sure to be on Mick's ass as soon as he saw the australian attempt to do anything too physical. No running, no push up's or pull ups or whatever else he did to keep in shape. Quite frankly Dennis couldn't care less about the odd looks they got, when he shamelessly scolded the Sniper and sent him on his way to his lookout tower instead.

The majority of the Snipers afternoon was spent shooting at long distance targets from up in his tower, he'd given up trying to do anything more strenuous as every time he did he was stopped by Dennis. If there was one thing that Mick had learned about the kid it was that there was no point in arguing with him, the bostonian's will was solid as steel and wouldn't be swayed for shit.

Mick took a swig of coffee and leaned over his towers fence, resting his head between his folded arms as he watched his team mates below. Everyone was hard at work, Demoman appeared to be mixing some new chemicals for a bomb, Pyro was cleaning his flamethrower, the Heavy was conversing with the Medic, probably about one tac-tic or another. Then he spotted the Engineer.  
The man was pacing around the outskirts of the fence, running his hands across the thick wire, ichecking for weaknesses/i, Mick assumed.  
The more he watched the Texan the more apparent it became about just how desperate the man was in trying to escape. The snipers amber eyes seemingly glowed in dark anticipation as he observed the Engineers erratic behaviour, he knew it wouldn't be long until he was given the go ahead to put the man down and hell, Mick didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt about what he would have to do.

The Teufort contract was a pretty simple one, there really weren't many complex rules or regulations to live by, no small print that you'd need a microscope to read either. Put simply, you were approached by the Admins lackeys, given the contract to read though and if you agreed you'd then let them know how long you wanted to work for them. Generally speaking the contracts weren't all that flexible, a mercenary could choose from a minimum of 5 years up to a life contract. It was this life contract that the majority of the men on the RED team had chosen, Mick included.  
The sniper didn't dislike being here, it was his home now after all. He was kept fed with good food, was able to keep his van and worked each day doing something that he loved. Life was generally a pretty easy ride for him living here, not counting the fact that he could die at any given time.

Mick stood back up out of his chair and eyed the sky, it looked like a storm was on its way, thick grey clouds had been crawling across the horizon to the camp all day and they would no doubt arrive at the base within a few hours time. The scent of incoming rain was already beginning to fill the air. The sniper had always loved the rain, it had always helped to mask his presence when hunting his targets, the feeling of it hitting his skin, the scent of it mixed in with the earth, the sounds it made, rain was something of an oddity to Mick and was something he never really grew tired of. It was always a welcome break from the sweltering heat of the wilderness at the very least.

Another hour or so had passed and Mick was now pretty bored. He had hit every target in his training schedule 100% dead on, this had been repeated 50 or so times before eventually laying on the floor of his tower to do sit ups which soon lead to a busted stitch in the bushman's side. Mick hoped that his partner wouldn't notice, he could do without the nagging, Dennis was quickly becoming somewhat of a stereotypical housewife. Not that the older man really minded, half the time he found it quite amusing, but today he just wanted to get on with his own business.

The sniper was busy trying to rub off a small trickle of blood off of his shirt, courtesy of his burst stitching when his tower radio began emitting white noise. Mick stared over at his radio for a few moments before sitting down next to it, responding lazily to the white noise,  
"G'day..."

There was a few seconds delay before the sickening rattle of an old woman's voice echoed through the radios mic, it was the sort of voice someone who smokes 50 cigarettes a day would sound like.  
"Am I right in assuming we have a planned escape?"  
Mick's eyebrows raised slightly in response, "hello to you too, Administrator. Word gets round fast, eh?"  
"I don't want your pleasantries, Australian. Is there or is there not an escape being planned?" The crackling voice of the Admin was as stern as ever, she wasn't known to be a pleasant woman even on her best days. Even when having as much contact as Mick did he still needed to tread carefully around her.  
Mick's amber eyes settled down on the Engineer, who was still pacing around the fence-line of the training grounds, his voice remained casual as he answered his boss, "Mmhm, I'm lead to believe so. Your new Engineer has been looking for a weak link in your fence for the better part of this afternoon."  
"There iaren't/i any weak links in iany/i fences in imy/i base." The woman's voice croaked with aggression. It surprised the bushman just how quickly she found out about these things, though he gathered the whole place was rigged with microphones and cameras.  
Mick watched his team member like a hawk as he scuttled around the fencing, completely unaware he was the center of a conversation.  
"So, you want me to get rid of him?" The Australians voice hitched slightly as he stretched his injured side, it was time for a lay down.  
"Get rid of him. Tomorrow morning. I want him igone/i before the new Soldier arrives. Is that clear, Sniper?"  
A cold smirk grew across the bushman's features, his eyes narrowing in satisfaction,  
"Crystal clear, administrator. Crystal clear."

Silence soon took back over the watch tower, the Admin wasn't one for hellos or goodbyes, today was really no exception. Mick smiled warmly, giving a little wave to his Scout who was signaling for him to come down, he'd have to be as quiet as he could tomorrow morning. The last thing the sniper needed was for the kid to see him killing his own team member over a dream they both shared. Still, he was excited. Escapee execution was a personal favorite of Micks, he looked forward to the morning. Men were like toys to the bushman, easily replaced, easily forgotten, easy to throw away if they weren't working right.

And the Engineer wasn't working right at all.


	21. Chapter 21

Besides keeping a watchful eye on Mick and shoo him off whenever the sniper was on ground level and nearing any type of dummy to practice with his kukri on, or the track around the base where he used to run, Dennis actually focused on his own training. The hours passed faster than they usually did, thankfully enough, and perhaps it was because the kid was lighter at mind and more at peace than he generally was. Either way, he was still happy once training was done and they were all allowed to get cleaned up and take the day off.

Mick didn't need it, but Dennis had to take a shower before he was ready for the day. Since others had the same idea Mick simply had to wait outside, since it would look pretty weird with him just standing there gawking as the kid got cleaned up. Afterwards, they really had no plans of what to do, so the Scout - surprisingly enough - figured they might as well try and be productive.  
"I need to move some of my stuff, clothes and shit from my room, better get it done...and we have to get rid of those freaking sheets, man."  
Although the night that caused the sheets to be soiled beyond recognition was one to be remembered with fondness, Dennis couldn't help but cringe. Even if the sex was good, he wasn't a fan of the damn jizz-stains.

As they entered the Scout's room, although the Spy was dead and there was no chance he'd be back to haunt them, Dennis still felt discomfort entering the room. In his mind the only way to get rid of that lingering stench of the frenchman, was to drench te room in gasoline and lit it on fire, only to let it put itself out. Then go through the process again, followed by some serious scrubbing and cleaning, before renovating from the ground and up. Only then would the room imaybe/i be inhabitable again.

Moving clothes and items from his room to the van - only the essentials, otherwise there would be no space for the two of them in the small van, intended for one man only - didn't take long, and soon the two were back at their little nest wondering what to do. They still had a good few hours before it was time to hit the hay, but neither one really felt like leaving the comfort of their 'home'. So, the couple settled with just some good old fashioned bonding by spending time together. They chatted a bit, relaxed in the old but comfortable couch. Somewhere in their discussion Dennis found it immensely funny to tease his partner, and once he playfully pulled the aussies hat down over his eyes, he'd started an all out war.

While they were acting childish, it was honestly very enjoyable to be able to let loose, and who the fuck saw them anyway? it was just them two, fooling around like two kids on the playground, rough-housing with one-another as they landed themselves on the bed in a playful wrestling match. By then Dennis wasn't too worried about Mick's wound, it wasn't like they were all out fighting anyway and, quite frankly, Dennis wasn't able to do much to hurt the aussie even if he was trying to. There was a significant difference in strength, height and all around weight. Not that it would keep the kid from getting cocky and trying to flaunt his superiority, of course.

Straddling Mick's abdomen as the older lay on his back, Dennis got his hands firmly on the australian's shoulders and stared down at him with a selfassured grin.  
"Hah! See I toldya my guns are awesome, I'd like to see you try get out of this one Snipe-"  
Just like that he was shamefully flipped over and with a slight "Oof" the youngster felt his back hit the bed, and the large aussie on top of him blocking the light of the lamp with his size. His amber eyes weren't exactly forgiving either, they looked just as confident as always and Dennis could swear the sharpshooter was taking pleasure in putting the kid in his place. Reluctantly the youngster quietly admitted his defeat, after awkwardly wiggling and trying his best to push the australian off, and back down onto he bed, but to no avail.

"Alright- Alright fine! You win, now get off, jesus." The blonde scolded with a chuckle. They lay down on the bed, facing one-another and obviously lying pretty damn close since the bed was small as shit, and for a moment nothing really needed to be said. Instead they shared friendly and yet affectionate and admiring glances, looks that told so much more than words really could. After a few moments though, the uncharacteristically happy Scout broke the silence.  
"Guess its...really over now, huh? I mean the Spy...finally I don't have to worry you're a fake all the damn time."  
Propping himself up on one elbow, the youngster looked down at the bushman and let his eyes casually wander over his scarred face. With a crafty smirk the teen leaned down.  
"But I should prolly make sure you're you anyway. Let's see you prove it."  
Giving out a playful snicker, Dennis closed his eyes as he joined lips with his partner in a rather calm and soft kiss. Now, there really felt like there was any hurry, no pressure and no need to rush. They had all the time in the world to enjoy each other, and there was no threat, hauntingly keeping them aware of all the things that could happen or go wrong. For once, things felt great, and they were probably as perfect as they could be, in a place like teufort.

The two men had enjoyed their playful banter for the better part of the evening. Hours had been spent consisting purely of sly jabs, playful remarks and wrestling, the majority of which the bushman had won.  
Mick couldn't help but grin as he was met with his partners soft lips, the two men laid there interlocked in the delicate kiss before breaking away to admire one another. "You realise how amazing you are, kid?" The older man ran his hand through his hair, "how you ended up with a guy like me...Well I just dunno."

For a while the two laid quietly, the storm Mick had seen coming hours before had finally arrived and was now hammering the metal roofing of the van with what sounded like fists made of rain. The sniper welcomed the sound, it was like white noise to him, helped to fill the silence when the silence got too deafening. "I love weather like this..." Mick stared out of the window opposite his bed, idly stroking small circles down his partners back as he spoke. "I've heard so many people complaining about the rain. Some say it brings bad luck...Makes people miserable, but not me, nah I love the rain." The sniper briefly looked at his Scout, seeing the puzzled expression on his face, "When you live where I lived, kid, trust me...Rain is somewhat of an oddity..."

A few hours had passed and the two men were now laying comfortably in bed, the last rays of light had long since sunk over the horizon and it was getting on towards bed time. Mick allowed his eyes to fall closed as he listened to the rain drumming on the vans walls, it wasn't long however before his own thoughts began to interrupt his peace and quiet. Tomorrow he would have to wake up, walk onto the battlefield and kill a member of his own team. No big deal. He had done this a fair few times before with other deserters. He enjoyed it. There was no room for cowardice in Teufort. What played on the Snipers mind was how he was going to get out of his van without disturbing the kid, he'd just have to make some shit up. It wouldn't be that hard convincing a half asleep teenager.

The two men laid in the complete darkness, the rain was now beginning to lull the two men asleep. It wasn't long before Mick began to feel himself slipping into his own little dream land and before doing so he planted a small kiss on his partners forehead, "time for sleep I think. Tomorrow we meet our new Soldier. Lets hope he's a little less up his arse than the last poor sod, eh? G'night, kiddo." No sooner had the two wished each other a pleasant nights sleep the van was quickly filled with the sounds of light snoring. Who knew that play fighting could tire you out so much? The bushman probably had burned more calories playing with the Scout than he had done actually training.

6:30AM and the Snipers eyes instantly snapped open, it was time. The sun was up, or at least he assumed it was, what little light there was was being covered by a vast blanket of grey cloud. The rain hadn't let up what so ever throughout the night and was still battering at the walls of the camper van. An execution in the rain. iHow fitting/i.  
Mick wasted no time in wriggling out from under the Scouts tiny frame, it thankfully didn't take too much effort to slide away from the youngster who as always slept on top of the older man. As quietly as he could, the sniper quickly dressed himself and grabbed his weapons, hopefully he would be back in the van before Dennis really woke up properly. Or at least on his way back.  
Just as the Australian opened the door to exit the camper he was stopped by the tiny voice of his partner who was now aware he wasn't in bed.  
Mick stepped back into the van and was quick to hush Dennis back down into relaxation, "shh, i'm just off out briefly. Getting a spot of hunting done before it gets too light. Get back to sleep, i'll be back soon enough."  
With a reassuring smile and a soft kiss the younger man soon appeared to be ready to go back to sleep and the hunter was ready to go.

It didn't take long for the Sniper to climb up into his tower and set up his rifle. His body buzzed with electrified anticipation as he waited patiently for the escapee Engineer to make his break for freedom. It wasn't long after before the Texan came into view, it was obvious that the man had been studying the fences, he had chosen which one was in his opinion the weakest and was now proceeding to rig it with various wires, no doubt some sort of explosive. Breathing slowly, the bushman lit up a cigarette and observed his target closely for a few minutes, waiting until the american had finished rigging the fencing to blow before lining up his scope to take the shot. It had been a long time since he had done this, the last time he had performed a self team execution was a short while before Dennis arrived in Teufort, he would take his time with this prey.

The Engineer was now in his sights and was ready to attempt his escape. Mick took a final drag of his cigarette before docking it against the wooden panel of his tower and flicking it over the side. It was time.  
The snipers breathing became shallow, his body appeared to freeze as if encased in ice, he steadied his rifle, the red dot of his scope reflecting off of the base of the Texans spine. iYou're mine./i  
Within an instant the Engineer was on the floor, gasping and screaming in a flurry of both agony and pure terror, he had been caught. How? By who?  
The Sniper exhaled and dropped his weapon down by his side, savouring the echoes of his escapees cries down below. Mick took his time climbing down the ladder and embraced the feeling of the rain pouring down on him. He had not felt this way in a long time and he wasn't about to let the techno-freaks life slip away so quickly.

"Morning!" The Australians voice was dangerously cheery as he walked towards the now crippled Engineer, even now the man was desperately dragging his body across the floor. Mick sighed and walked in front of the man, blocking his path before kneeling down to look at him properly.  
The americans eyes widened in pure horror when he realised who owned the bullet now lodged in his spine. "S-sniper...? Why?"  
Never had a question been asked with so many mixed emotions, the bushman idly rubbed the prickly stubble on his face, his amber eyes drilling into the Engies as he replied.  
"Don't take it personally, mate. It's the misses..." he pointed behind him to a surveillance camera mounted to the wall, "she doesn't take kindly to deserters. Bad for business. Bad for team morale...Y'know what I mean?"  
Mick grinned murderously as he stood up, kicking the Engineer over onto his back and then stood over him. The rain had completely soaked him to the bone, there wasn't a part of him that was dry but he embraced the rain warmly.

A few moments passed before the Australian unclipped his kukri from his belt and dangled it dangerously above the Texans head. "End of the line, mate. Anything to say before we end this?" The snipers voice was calming and quiet, he waited patiently for the dying man to say his final words, the Engineer said nothing, he just stared up at his killer, his own team mate, a man who not 24 hours prior had been talking to him at breakfast as if everything would be ok. Now this man was going to kill him. He was going to die. Mick sighed, stretching slightly as he did so, "guess you've got nothin' to say, eh? Well then...See ya 'round."  
Without waiting for the injured man to respond the snipers grip on his Kukri gave way, the enormous blade fell through the air and pierced the yanks cheekbone and continued to be pulled down by gravity until it wedged itself into the floor on the other side of the mans head. It was done. The aussie stood in silence for a few seconds, admiring his work before stepping on the dead mans throat, using his body as an anchor to help pull his knife out of the corpses head. It was done.

Mick turned around, the body would be dealt with by out of base staff. A twisted smirk tugged at the Snipers lips as he left the scene. The morning had been good, he wasn't ashamed to say he had enjoyed every moment of the Engineers execution. It wasn't until Mick refocused his attention and looked up, however, that he spotted something beyond terrifying.  
Over on the far corner of the battlefield was Dennis.  
How long had he been there? How long had he watched this? Had he heard anything? The snipers eyes widened in shock as he was greeted with the sudden realisation that he had murdered a member of his team for wanting to leave Teufort, a goal that Dennis had been trying to accomplish for some time now. How the fuck was he supposed to explain this? Mick really wished he knew.

The hours slowly rolled on by, but neither of the two really noticed. They were far too busy concentrating on each other and just enjoying the peace they got t experience, which was so extremely rare. Strangely enough there was a fond, almost loving smile on the youngster's freckled face, making him look a lot more gentle and a lot less like a vicious mercenary than ususal. Feeling Mick's calloused hand run through his hair, and hearing those sweet words that, had anyone else said it to a loved one in Dennis' presence, the kid would've hurled and told them to go get a room or something. But now, the words gave him nothing but peace and comfort. It was a wonder to him, too, how the two f them had ended up together, and most o all how Mick could think he was amazing in any kind of way.

Now, Dennis wasn't one for admitting his flaws, at least not verbally, and he never let other peopleknow of his insecurities and worries. But Mick was different. For once, the blonde felt he could be honest about how he felt. Well, t least a bit. He'd never admit just how much of a waste of space he considered himself to be, but he'd let Mick know it baffled him that he was even loved by ianybody/i.  
"Could say the same thing for you, Snipes.."

All in all it was a wonderful evening, and as night came around they were tired both from training and from all the childish playing and messing around they'd been doing, as well as perfectly at peace with the world. There wasn't a single worry on the kid's mind, he felt safe and comfortable and happy for once in a lifetime. It really couldn't get much better.  
Being as relaxed and content as he was, it didn't take long for the scout to fall asleep huddled up against his partner, head resting on Mick's chest as usual to allowthe kid to fall asleep to the soothing sound of his heartbeats. If every day could be like this, well..Dennis could see why some people enjoyed life. He and Mick had just never got a fair chance was all, but it would all change, soon.

It was early morning. The comfortable, soft, breathing warmth underneath him was gone, and left a cold silent void where the snoring australian should be. It took a little while for Dennis to wake up properly from his sleep, even as the sniper had slipped out of bed, but soon the youngsters discomfort of not having Mick there woke him up. He was groggy, and it was way too early to be up, so it was with blurry sight and squinting eyes - that, when he blinked, didn't quite keep up with each other, giving the blonde that super-tired-and-kinda-drunk look as one eye would close before the other - that Dennis lift his head from the pillow and directed his attention to his fully dressed partner who was on his way out the door.  
It made the half asleep teen both wonder and feel a slight pang of panic. Was Mick leaving? Why, he wasn't leaving for good was he? Had they done something that he regretted or hd Dennis said something? Well, Dennis said a lot of thing that the average person wouldn't put up with, but he didn't think he'd said or done anything drastic to where Mick would want to walk out on him.

Mick was quickly by Dennis' side, stroking his forehead and hair assuringly and speaking in that heavenly soft, low voice. With a tired groan the youngster quit fighting it and let his eyes fall shut as his muscles relaxed into the mattress again.  
"Mmkay, jus' don' be too long...take a coat 't's rainin.." Pretty much half-slurring into his pillow the scout was soon on his way to falling fast asleep again, his mind already re-entering dreamland.

An hour passed, and Dennis' sleep wasn't peaceful or calm and comforting like it had been all night. He felt like something was wrong, something was up. With an irritated groan he woke up, drawn out of his sleep by the odd knot in his stomach. What was this, his intuition? Hell it had never been of any use to him before, why did it kick in now? He could just feel it, something justi wasn't right./i

The tired teen sat up. Mick still wasn't there. The rain was sounding loud and clear, hitting the van's roof and sides. Jesus would it ever stop? Dennis hated these storms, there was nothing to do when they came, and they usually didn't light up for a good day or two. He supposed it was good for the earth, or whatever, though it really didn't matter how much rain came falling down, nothing would grow on that battered battlefield anyway.

As he began to come to, Dennis scratched his head and creased his brows. He could remember, almost as if it had been a dream, Mick waking him up as he left. What had he said he was gonna go do? iHunting?/i Now that was odd. Wasn't much to kill around except humans, and if Mick had left the base to go ut into the bush and hunt animals he surely needed his van. How else would he drag the amount of meat needed to feed the team back to he base? Sure he was a strong man but not that strong!

Something was up, none of this felt right.  
"Where've you gone...you really are a terrible fucking liar, only time I fall for it is when I'm freaking asleep...sneaky bastard."  
Dennis muttered to himself. He got up, and got dressed. Since there were no raincoats or other necessities, he'd have to do with only his track jacket, that undoubtedly would get drenched in the rain. Come to think of it, Mick had gone out an hour before...he must be drenched too, if he truly was out there hunting. He'd get sick! That was just what they needed, a sniper with a cold, getting his gross snot all over the damn place and sneezing and coughing.  
"Idiot." Dennis snorted as he pulled the hood of the jacket up, to protect his golden locks best he could as he stepped out into the rain. What he didn't do for love.

It was dark, even though it was morning and thesun was up. But the dark clouds blocked any and all rays ofsnlight out, making the whole base look depressing and gloomy. How Mick could enjoy the weather, Dennis' wasn't sure. To the kid it was just depressing, and reminded him of the stormy night he got his scar. He preferred not to be reminded.

Suddenly there was a sharp sound in the distance, and yet so close. It was the sound of a rifle no doubt. Mick? Was he up in his tower training? But he'd done so all day yesterday, his aim was flawless! Shortly after something else cut through the deafening sound of the rain; a drained out but agonizing cry, a scream of pure terror and pain. What the hell was going on?  
Dennis felt his muscles tense and the hair at the back of hisneck stand up. iWhat/i was igoing bon/b/i?

It was hard to localize there exactly the sound came from through the rain and wind, but the youngster took on a look of both determination and bewilderment as he began jogging in the direction he thought the scream had come from. His own base, was there and attack going on? But there was no alarm, no more shots, nothing that usually would happen when the enemy attacked at odd hours. Running up a small hill the drenched Scout - who by then had forgotten about the cold and the rain, and was solely focused on unraveling this mystery of who was crying out in pain and iwhy/i - came to a halt. There was a worry in him that something had happened to Mick, that it had been his scream. But it hadn't sounded like Mick, it had sounded more...more scared, a different voice and a different tone. But it could just be the rain drowning it out, Dennis had to be sure.

There, over in the distance through the blur from the rain, and the morning mist creating a haunting scenery, was a man. Two men, in fact, and as Dennis fixed his eyes on the dark figures he could make out the colors of their clothes even though the angry rain, that just seemed to be getting worse. They were RED. Both of them.  
It didn't take long before the youngster figured out who was on the ground, and who was standing over him. As the taller stood to his full length, stepping over the smaller one on the ground who was still trembling in pain, it dawned on Dennis. It was Mick. iWhat the hell was e doing!?/i

Dennis saw the kukri, but just as his eyes widened and his mouth opened to call out for his partner to stop, a jolt shooting through his body pushing the kid foward, Mick let to and the large knife fell heavy. It penetrated the engineers head, pierced his face and put a horriffic end to his suffering. At least in a sense, the young buck had got his way, but not the way he'd wanted it.

The scout felt ice-cold and he was more confused than he ever had been before. What had gotten into Mick? He knew the punishment for killing your own was death and probably torture too! Not that the australian had ever run the risk of killing his own anyway, not even the Soldier when he'd given Dennis a beating. Sure, Mick had fought the bull, but not killed him. He damn well could have, if he set his mind to it, but because of the consequences he had probably held back. So why in all the seven regions of hell had he snapped now, and on the harmless engie of all people?

Dennis started running. It took only a second before he was right up in Mick's face, eyes wide and showing a range of emotions.  
"Man are you CRAZY?! What the hell are you doin'!?" He blurted out, staring up at his partner who looked quite shocked to see him.  
"Do you know what kinda trouble you're in? Why the he'll did you go and kill engie for!? He's a total imp I get it, you hate cowards but FUCKS SAKE MICK, the Admin's gonna be on your ass, she'll probably have you hanged from the top of your goddamn lookout tower, do you even iknow/i what-"  
Before Dennis could finish his furious and panicked rant, there was a second of white noise cutting through the rain interrupting the conversation, before the hag's well-known voice was heard.

i"Well done."/i  
Dennis stared. His face showing mixed emotions of puzzlement as he tried to understand. Well done? iWell done/i!?  
Suddenly the kid's eyes widened as he looked up at the tall australian, his face going pale and his brows going through the roof in surprise and shock. It had been a ideal/i, the Admin had iwanted/i the engineer dead.  
Dennis had heard whispers of it before, that those who tried to escape would be offed by some mysterious shadow in the night that nobody had been able to identify so far, and the body would be disposed of and never found. It really was like people just disappeared without a trace, only to be replaced like nothing a few days later.

"Explain this." Dennis' voice was stern, but wavered. He clenched his jaw, his eyes drilling into Mick with unforgiving coldness. He wanted to be told it was a mistake, that it wasn't what it seemed. He wanted Mick to tell him he'd been out hunting and bumped int othe engineer, and that the two had had a fit and Mick just snapped, accidentally killing him. But it had been no accident. It was'nt an accident, dropping a goddamn kukri down someone's head like that.

While the young engineer's lifeless body was still being emptied of blood, the rain making the thick liquid thin and spreading it across the usually dry dusty ground, Dennis could feel something building up inside him. A fury, an a feeling of denial and refusal to accept that Mick could be the traitor his team had spoke about. The man with no morale, who could stab his comrades in the back so long as he was payed for it. Honeslty Dennis had always thought itwas the spy, he seemed like the right man to kill without conscience. It couldn't be Mick. It icouldn't/i.

Micks face remained expressionless as his partner ran up to him, begging for an explanation. It became apparent that the kid just thought that the older man had completely flown off the handle and decided to kill one of his own team mates in cold blood. The worry in the Scouts voice was apparent, he feared for the bushmans life, it was a well known fact that any team member who has murdered one of their own, for bany/b reason is to be put to death and strung up along the walls as an example. However the concern in Dennis' voice soon changed when the withered tone of the Administrator echoed in from around them, praising Mick for his actions.

For a moment the Sniper was silent, his scarred face completely void of any guilt or real emotion as he stared into the Scouts mortified eyes. Eventually when he did speak up his voice was no less emotionless as his face. He couldn't afford to be seen bending submissively to the Scouts pressures. He knew the old hag was watching them, entertained by the younger mans response no doubt. "There is nothing to explain." Mick stood to one side, allowing Dennis to get a good view of the bloodied remains of their ex Engineer. "iThis/i is what happens to those who try to escape."  
There was a moment of mortified silence from the Scout as his partner continued, "As i said to the techno-freak over there, theres no place for cowardice in these walls. Our Administrator doesn't take kindly to deserters."

By this point the rain was coming down so heavily that the corpse of the Engineer just a few meters away could barely be seen through the downpour.  
The two men were at a stand still, neither one of them was moving, Mick knew the kid wouldn't just let this go. Since the two had gotten close all Dennis really spoke about was getting out of this place, leaving the confines of Teufort and seeing the world, being ifree/i. It wasn't just a dream to the kid, it was a goal, something to strive for and something that had just been crushed right in front of his face.

Mick sighed in tired frustration as his partner began to spiral into a confused fury, the snipers voice was cold as steel "listen, the toll for leaving this place before your contract ends is a heavy one. iEveryone/i knows this. If ishe/i gets word that someone is planning to escape she gets rid of them and ii'm/i the one who gets rid of them for her." There was a moment of silence before the older man continued speaking, "don't ask me to apologise for something i'm not sorry for, Dennis. The man had it coming."

Mick wasn't lying to the kid, he wasn't sorry about what he had done to the Engineer. He was their resident executioner of sorts. Trusted employee of the gnarly old crow that was the Administrator. He was praised for his abilities, given confirmation of his skills as an assassin. No, he wasn't sorry for what he had done to the Engineer. What he iwas/i sorry for, however, was crushing his partners dreams of getting out of here right before his eyes. He knew how much Dennis' wanted to get out, hell Mick told him that he wanted to show him the fucking iworld/i for god sakes. Now he just came across as a liar. A traitor. A cold blooded murderer. Someone who couldn't be trusted.

"I ain't talking about this any more, Scout. I'm sorry you had to see it but whats done is do-" before Mick could finish the younger mercenary erupted, a flood of raw confusion, rage and betrayal spewing out of his mouth, every body movement, every word, the kid was dripping in a primal rage that the older man hadn't seen in his partner for a long time. Knowing that the cameras were still on the two, the Administrators hundreds of mechanical eyes focussed on them, Mick shoved his way past the Scout, hiding his own guilt of hurting the kid by smirking chillingly.

"You look like you're ready to knock the shit out of me. You can itry/i...Heh, you should've stayed in the van, ikid/i."

Dennis could only stare, and feel how more and more pieces of him were crushed and mauled to dust every second Mick spoke, confirming the youngster's fear. He got exactly the answer he did not want, and the demeanor which the Sniper laid out the whole truth for him didn't exactly make it easier on the kid, either.  
So it was Mick. The sly, backstabbing bastard who could be a man's best friend one day and torture him to death the next, even for Dennis that was cold. There was no motive, no reason, and yet there was a lust-like satisfaction the bushman seemed to be taking in his special little job. Was he proud? Handpicked by the admin to be her puppet, was it something to be iproud/i of? Something to value? Did it make him feel big and bad and important? He was none of the things, and the teen felt every feeling of admiration, affection, appreciation and even love for the bushman, shatter and die a violent death. This wasn't the man he admired, this was a clueless brute, muscle for the twisted queen of all evil who ran the damned place.

There was an inferno brewing inside Dennis, a storm so vicious it was a wonder his small body could contain it. He was shaking with anger and frustration, and ihurt/i. Never had anything hurt him so bad. The feeling was the worst of them all, to be betrayed by the one person on this earth who he had opened himself up to, and actually trusted.

All those times Dennis had expressed his want to leave Teufort, all those make-believe stories Mick had told about how they'd go see the world and live the good life on the road, moving from wherever they wished in that van, all ithat/i, and Mick had known all along that none of it could ever become truth. He'd know that they could never leave. All along, he'd known that when the time came and Dennis did make an attempt to leave, Mick would have to be the one to take his life. Had the Sniper been fine with that thought, all these months? Had he accepted the fact that he would have to murder the bostonian not if, but when he finally attempted to leave the base? What did all those sweet words, tender kisses and worthless 'I love you's mean now. Nothing. It had all been to fool the kid, Dennis had been manipulated and fooled just like every single one of his teammembers. Nobody would suspect Mick, because he made people like him, or at least not dislike him. He seemed like one who valued respect and honor, but the young Scout was seeing his real colors now, and he wasn't liking it one bit.

"Goddamn bastard! You-you fucking iliar!/i"  
In a fit of rage Dennis lunged for the much taller man, with a roar so vicious it sounded inhuman. He couldn't contain it, the burning blinding rage, the personal hurt and the betrayal he felt. He'd never trusted anyone, never let anyone in close, built walls thall and thick up around himself to nobody could ever hurt him. And he'd made a mistake. One small crack in the structure had lent Mick an opportunity to slip through, and he'd groomed the kid into lowering his guard, only to beat him down with this now. This must be how his mother feels, Dennis thought. To constantly be screwed over, used and manipulated, made to believe someone iActually cared/i. And then, once they were done, they had no consideration for anyone but themselves and just left. Only difference between Dennis and his mother, as that Dennis wasn't going to just cry himself to sleep over it. No, he would fight back and give Mick hell. Pure hell.

The already hurt knuckle throbbed with pain as it made impact with Mick's face, though despite the hard hit the australian seemed unphased. It, of course, only angered Dennis more. Mick's snarky comments, and the fact he dared turn his back to the kid only infuriated the scout even more. He was seeing red, and breathing fire.  
"Damn straight I'm gonna knock the shit out of you! iHey!/i Don't walk off, what are ya, scared? I'm italking/i to you!"  
There was so much the kid wanted to say, to scream ad yell and beat into the australian, but even he knew they couldn't express their personal relationship in front of the cameras. Although, Dennis was this close to simply not caring. Mick had taken everything from him anyway, honestly the kid didn't even care if he died. He had nowhere to go if he did escape, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try. He was going to face Mick head on and challenge the australian to do his so-called duty. Maybe he would be able to, maybe he could put a bullet in Dennis' brain no problem. Maybe the only sense of remorse he'd have, would be a moment of hesitation before he ended the kid's life.

Dennis ran after the sniper, before he could get too far. With a well-placed fist right where Mick's stab wound was, the youngster managed to pass by him and block his path.  
"Where are you going? We might as well settle this right now, you're gonna have to kill me anyway to just get it out of the way then! Come on! iCome on/i I iDARE/i ya!"  
Grabbing Mick's hand with the kukri and placing the sharp cold blade at his own neck, Dennis stood with his arms out as if he was welcoming the sniper to make his move.  
"You're better off just getting it over with Mick, it'll save you time, 'cus I'm iNOT/i gonna stay in this hellhole. If I have to go through you to get out you can be sure I'm going to! I aint afraid ofib you/b/i"

With eyes cold as eyes, and yet if one looked deep enough the hurt, the disappointment, he way this all had completely crushed the kid, shone through the mask of anger and hatred. For some reason the kid was still alive, even after straight up challenging the aussie to kill him. Well so long as he had a voice, Dennis would use it.  
"You know it's real funny, you hate cowards, but you know what snipes? You're biggest coward of all. HE was more of a man than you! And you know what else?"  
Taking a step closer as his eyes narrowed, Dennis stared right up at the man he thought he knew, but now saw as nothing else but an enemy. With a hiss, silent enough to not be heard by the admin through the hard rain, but loud enough to reach Mick's eardrums, the youngster had his final say. Probably the last thing he would ever say to the man in front of him.  
"I regret everything we ever did and I. Hate. You."

Giving the larger a rough shove, Dennis turned around and darted off as fast as he could. He didn't know what to make of all that he was feeling, he could barely make out what exactly it was he was feeling. He felt like he was in a nightmare ,everything was suddenly so wrong. Everything he'd hoped for, every goal he'd had for them, crushed. His world was crumbling around him and he felt like an rat in a maze.

Hate was a strong word. There was still love for the Mick he'd known, of course. The Mick that showed care and affection, who would make sure to keep Dennis safe and valued the simple joys in life, like just spending time together or watching the sunset could bring him joy and content. This bloodthirsty inconsiderate beast with a thirst for blood was not him, it wasn't the Mick Dennis knew. The Mick Dennis knew had been a fake all along, it was a made up persona that the filthy bushman had used to get close to the kid, probably just to have his fun with the oblivious teen and tell him exactly what he wanted to hear to get on Dennis' good side. He'd probably picked up on the youngsters apparent father-issues and taken the role as a fatherly figure, only to abuse the fact that the teen was love-starved and sneak his way into his pants. He was no better than that filthy spy had been. He was no better than anybody else in the damn world.

Micks jaw clenched shut as the Scouts fist made impact with his injured side, the remaining stitches bursting away from his skin. It took the majority of will power that the sniper still had in his body to not yell in pain. The bushmans eyes widened as his partner pressed the Kukri against his throat, egging the older man on to finish it there and then. Of course he could't, he could inever/i hurt Dennis. Not intentionally at least. Mick's eyes twitched as the Scout shouted out that he wouldn't be staying here any longer, of course the old hag will have heard, every camera on the outside of the base was facing them, recording every word every action. It wouldn't be long before the administrator wanted the bostonians head for conspiring to leave the base prior contract termination. This was something that the hunter could never do in a million years.

iI. Hate. You./i  
Mick didn't show it at the time, but the words that Dennis spat out at him were nothing short of venomous bullets. The sniper watched as the one person he cared most about ran away. His previous buzz from slaughtering the Engineer had evaporated form his body, there was no pride, no happiness. Just hurt and the fear he had lost the most important aspect of his life. The weight of the hunters guilt physically dragged the rest of his body down with the gravity as he fell to his knees into the soaking mud. It wasn't before long that the bushman was laying completely on his back in the waterlogged ground, staring up at the grey sky. Right now, physical pain was far beyond the least of his worries, his face ached dully from where Dennis had punched him, he'd earned a handsome split lip from it. His stab wound was bleeding into the muddy soil from the second hit.

He'd worked so hard to break the kids barriers, worked so hard to make it known that if ianyone/i could be trusted in this place it was him. What the fuck was all that good for any more? Nothing. The order from the administrator coupled with the previous intense bloodlust the bushman had exhibited had driven away the one good thing that he had in this place. How would he even be able to look at the kid anymore? How would they work together? Would Dennis even give him the time he needed to properly explain himself, away from the prying eyes of the admin? Most likely not. Jesus he had just ruined ieverything./i

On top of the fact that his partner now despised him, he had to find a way of convincing the boss to not kill Dennis for planning desertion. Mick had inever/i said no to the Administrators wishes. What she said was law, both to him and everyone else in the base. If he was told to execute Dennis, and he iwould/i be told, then how would he explain that he icouldn't?/i. It was something that needed extremely delicate consideration but not something that the older man could even bare to think about right now. His mind was blank.


	22. Chapter 22

Mick wasn't sure how long he had been laying face up in the mud for. But he gathered it must have been a good while as the other troops were now beginning to come out for the day to do some morning training. It was still raining, though not as heavily as before. Today was the day that the RED team would be given their new Soldier and as such the training wouldn't last long. Meeting a new team member was an exciting time for the group, everyone would generally try to give off a friendly vibe, looking and sounding their best before letting all the crazy out a few days later. But when one team member is brought in on the same day one is murdered, well it tends to put a dampener on the whole event.

Mick could see the team members who were out training from his peripheral vision, Demoman, Heavy, Pyro. All were busy doing their warm ups, all the bushman could think about was his Scout, what he was doing, where he was. The sniper ineeded/i to explain himself to the kid and would have done so there and then if his body wasn't completely numb from the freezing rain and the mud gluing him in place. Now probably wasn't the best time to approach the youngster anyway. After what Mick had said to him, after how he had behaved...Well the bostonian needed a break from the bushman. Even if it was only a little while...

Dennis didn't know where he was running, he had no place to go. The base was toxic for him, he felt threatened and watched no matter where he was, there wasn't one safe spot for him to just sit and relax, in the entire base. His room was a terrible choice, Mick's room even worse, and the ivan/i. The goddamn think should be blown to smithereens! It was the place he'd let Mick come as close as any person ever could, and for what? All this shit, a big jagged knife right in the back. The curses Dennis was throwing at himself for his own stupidity were both colorful and venomous. He felt so damn stupid. This is what he got for putting his guard down and actually letting someone in, despite years of telling himself that nobody could be trusted. Well here was his proof.

The scout managed to hide away from he rain, at the far end of the base under a small roof made of old rusty metal. There lay tires on the ground underneath, protected from the rain, along with some various tools, rope, spare metal and such. Things that could be necessary to fix a car or could prove useful for the engineer. Well, not anymore but, that's what it was intended for.

Dennis curled up in the far corner under the leaking roof. This was the best place he could find, he was hidden from cameras i fhe just sat there, pressed against the ice-cold stone wall in the corner. At last there he was alone, and not watched by anybody. Cold and with the heaviest feeling of loneliness and despair, the youngster's face began to emote what he really was feeling. Rather than anger, there was hurt. His jaw still clenched hard, so hard it quivered, but his creased brows and his glossy eyes showed only pain. He hurdled up in the corner, knees pulled up to his chest and head hidden behind his arms as he tipped it forward, wrapping his arms around his legs and latching onto his soaked jacket. He'd never felt anything quite like this in his entire life.

Shaking from the cold and the bottled up emotions, and yet feeling so exhausted that moving even a millimeter felt like climbing up a mountain, Dennis tried to make sense of the mess in his head. He had to accept that the man he'd known and befriended, who he gave himself to and trusted, wasn't real. It was all a lie, Mick was only a manipulator. The only thing he cared about was his money and how many people he got to kill, nothing else mattered to him, obviously.  
"Should've never let that bastard in" Dennis spat, clenching his teeth as hard as he could trying to fight the tears. He refused to cry for that man.

Though there was only pure hatred now, completely replacing any affectionate and loving emotion Dennis had ever had for the aussie, Dennis knew that if he ended up in a face off with the sharpshooter he wouldn't be able to off him. He just couldn't, he couldn't even imagine ever killing Mick. He could give him a few well deserved punches but he could never cut him, or strangle him, or break a bone or put a bullet in him. Most likely they would end up in that situation, Dennis against his previous lover, and if Dennis couldn't run from him he'd most likely be killed on the spot. Then so be it, the youngster refused to stay in the base any longer. Screw the plan of staying until the month was over, he had to get out ino/i. He couldn't bare thinking about facing Mick again, having to look at him each and every day for weeks to come. No this had to be dealt with quickly, hopefully it would be over no sooner than it had begun. The blonde was determined to go out fighting, anyway. He'd never just lay down and die, not for Mick, not for anybody.

Eventually Dennis managed to pick himself up off the ground. The kid made it through the still pouring rain into the base, not lending the cameras a look. He wasn't going to do anything, not yet, the admin could safely and soundly take hr time planning his painful death.  
The scout entered his room, a place without cameras and microphones thank god. He slipped out of his drenched clothes and re-dressed, after which he went through his drawers and found some paper, and an old pencil with the end hinting that it had been frequently gnawed on, so much so that the paint of the pencil had fallen off.  
Silently and with a face remaining emotionless, the youngster sat down by his desk and lit the small lamp so he could see better. Then, he began to write.

i"Dear Ma,

This month's pay aint as good as it usually is, but you'll have to make do. I can't send more because they don't need me here any longer, and I'm not getting any more money, so this is the last I can send you. I know it aint enough, but maybe if you got a job of your own you wouldn't need"/i

With a frown the kid stopped. He reached into his drawer in search of an eraser, but found none. Damn it.

i"Dear Ma,

This month's pay aint as good as it usually is, but you'll have to make do. I can't send more because they don't need me here any longer, and I'm not getting any more money, so this is the last I can send you. strike I know it aint enough, but maybe if you got a job of your own you wouldn't need/strike  
They're gonna send me off, don't know when, but I probably wont be able to keep in touch. Where I'm going aint got no paper."/i

With a huff the youngster looked down at his short, seemingly emotionless letter. His brain wasn't functioning, at least that's how he felt. He couldn't emote, and honestly he didn't even want o. He didn't iwant/i to feel.  
But, as he looked down at his letter and brought his money and an envelope up out of the drawer, he pondered about how to end it off. This might as well be the last letter he'd ever send his mother. The last contact he'd ever have with her. She didn't need to know that her son was going to be executed in a week or so at most, but perhaps it wouldn't be right to say goodbye for the last time, without letting the woman know Dennis loved her.

Putting the pencil to the paper again, the teen struggled. He knew he should write it, it wasn't hard "I love you" signed "Your son". He'd never written it before, nor had he ever said it to her before. Maybe it would tick her off, that it was so out of character?  
The soft sound of the pencil's tip being drawn over the paper as it formed words, was the only thing despite the rain to break the silence.

i"Dear Ma,

This month's pay aint as good as it usually is, but you'll have to make do. I can't send more because they don't need me here any longer, and I'm not getting any more money, so this is the last I can send you. strike I know it aint enough, but maybe if you got a job of your own you wouldn't need/strike  
They're gonna send me off, don't know when, but I probably wont be able to keep in touch. Where I'm going aint got no paper."

I'll see you when I see you

Your son  
Dennis"/i

Putting the letter along with what little money he had left into the envelope, Dennis sealed it shut and got a stamp on it, writing his mothers name and address on the front. It was ready to be posted. He knew, though, how slow Teuforts postal service could be. She probably wouldn't receive the letter before Dennis was already dead. Not that she'd know, or care.

Like a walking dead the kid exited his room to leave his letter in the mailbox. Thankfully, the men's letters that hey received or sent were never fiddled with or opened up and read, they were respected as property of the men. Mostly because the Admin had nothing to fear from the outside, anyway. Dennis could only hope she took no interest in his letter to his mother, but he was sure the lady had a lot mor important things on her mind than that.

Quite frankly Dennis didn't care where Mick was. He didn't care what everyone else was doing. He didn't care that the new Soldier was due to arrive in just an hour or two. The kid would have no part in it. He was done, with all of this, he refused to participate in training or fighting or cleaning or whatever else. He'd rather take any punishmen the admin could throw at him, death felt terribly inviting right about then anyway.

Sat at the top of the base's roof, far above everyone else and the only place higher up being Mick's lookout tower, Dennis stared out into he distance. He felt cold. Emotionally and physically. Mick had broken him. The walls were up again, and this time they were stronger than ever. Nobody would get through, ever again.

Gazing down at the ground below where his team mates were training, Dennis thought he saw something else that looked...rather odd. It looked like a body, it didn't move and it was just laying there. He soon figured out it was Mick.  
What was he doing there? Some of the other men circled around the sniper, probably asking if he was alrigth and wondering what was wrong. It was unbeknown to Dennis that his reckless hit at the man's side had caused Mick to bleed again, but the others just took it as an accident. Mick's injury had just opened up and the man had collapsed, no big deal. Off to the Medic and he'd be good as new. For once Dennis wasn't there with him, nor was he desiring to be there with him. He wanted answers still, and a part of him wanted to confront the australian. But another part of him shuddered at the pure thought of having to look at that liars face again.

Still, Dennis refused to die with some questions unanswered.

When the rest of the men disappeared inside to meet their new soldier, Dennis climbed down from the roof. With reluctant steps he walked across the soaked battlefield. feeling his every instinct pulling him back and urging him to turn around. But the youngster kept walking. Soon he spotted the camper van, and though he never wanted to see the old rusty thing ever again, he kept moving forward. Mick would come back there, he knew he would. Then they could have their little talk, out of sight for the Admin. There were so many things Dennis wanted to say, and now that he felt practically emotionally dead he thought he could handle it.

Mick was well and truly gone to the world. He had been laying on the ground for hours now, he looked and felt like a wreck. Half of his face was now black and blue, a single line of dry blood trailed down from his split lip and onto his chin. The wound in his side was now caked in the sludgy mud that had soaked through his shirt. His body was beyond freezing cold, though it wasn't really like he cared. The way he had behaved in front of his partner was colder than his own body would ever feel. After a while a few of his other team members gathered around him, their growing concern for the man was warranted, he was bleeding, soaked to the bone and refused to talk to anyone. Even the Medic came out to check if he was ok, though as per his usual demeanour his concern quickly diminished and he soon headed off back into his office.

The sniper lay on the ground for another 20 minutes or so before he heard another person approaching him. The sounds of the footsteps were lighter, more cautious than the rest of his team mates. Mick let his head drop to the side that the sound was coming from and he was beyond surprised at who he saw had come to ivisit/i him. Hovering a few get away stood Dennis. The expression on the kids face was a mess of emotions as his eyes drilled into the Snipers. The bushman sighed tiredly, there was really nothing he could say to make things better between, the most he could do was at least itry/i to explain his actions.

"This...Was a part of my job I didn't want you to know about..."  
Micks voice cracked with exhaustion as his amber eyes pierced into the Scouts.  
"And this isn't the first time I've done this to one of our team members...The last one was before you arrived...The administrator, she saw I had a knack for taking people down, at one point I had the highest kill streak on the team...she wanted to utilise my abilities the best she could. Saw that I wasn't...Wasn't a deserter."

The Snipers eyes shifted away from the piercing gaze of the Scouts, he couldn't look at him anymore, instead staring up at the sky.  
"I was named her honorary executioner. She had lost a lot of team members due to escapes and needed someone to stop them from getting out, stop em from telling people about us. So I was given this job...I enjoy hurting people, its been my job for a ivery/i long time...But I don't enjoy hurting you. I couldn't explain myself or act how I wanted when you found out because we were being watched. By iher/i. I had to make it seem like I didn't care about what you thought. About what you think. Though I guess its too late for that now, hm?"

The two men remained silent for a while, the rain was beginning to get heavier again, it was almost like the weather was reflecting how the two men felt. "I know you want out...You want to leave this place...You can try, I sure as hell won't stop you...I could never, would never, hurt you. iEver/i.  
She's going to ask me to put you down. I can't do that to you, inot you/i. Do you know the punishment for disobeying a direct order from the Administrator, Dennis?" The younger man remained silent, Mick suspected he wasn't done listening to the snipers shit. He wouldn't be surprised if the bostonian accused the older man of just spinning lies to him.  
"The punishment for disobeying a direct order from the Administrator isn't death. But hell, it may as well be. I won't put you down for trying to leave. Theres nothing for you here, not anymore. Please, Scout. If you're gonna go...Then get out of here now."

Mick had said all he could. Everything he had told the bostonian was the truth. He would rather face the wrath of the boss than harm a hair on his Scouts head. And he knew this was going to be the case. Even if Dennis didn't believe a word of it, the hunter had at least some solace in himself that things were now out in the open, he literally had nothing left to hide.  
The bushmans eyes closed tightly as the injury to his side burned with the fresh muddy bacteria eating at his skin. He was well and truly done.  
With his last ounce of strength he opened his eyes and stared at his ionce/i partner, unable to read the emotions on the teens face and sighed painfully.  
"If you're gonna go...Then please, get out of here before she realises. Use my van, ram it through the fence. Just iplease/i... keep safe."

Dennis was heading for the van, thinking Mick would be getting some medical aid before he was let go. But, as the Bostonian passed by a long distance away, he noticed their team mates just…leaving the sniper there. How so, was he…dead? The Scout stopped, his curiosity peaked and, although extremely carefully and cautiously, he set foot towards the collapsed Australian. There was a part of the youngster, with all spikes pointing outwards, that warned him about getting close to that thing on the ground. Like a crocodile Mick could look dead enough, but who the hell knew when he'd jump up and seek blood. Dennis didn't trust him, he wouldn't even trust him with his goddamn laundry!

The blonde said nothing as he stopped, several meters from Mick, observing the Australian. He looked alive, he was breathing and his eyes moved so,unless he was having after-death spasms of some sort he was most likely alive. The small pool of blood formed by the sniper's injured side drew Dennis' attention. The hit had been harder than he thought, he'd actually fucked up the bushman's stitches. And his face…well his face was looking terrible. Undoubtedly from the merciless punch the feisty youngster had delt him in a fit of pure rage.

With his arms around himself, squeezing slightly as Dennis involuntarily tensed when Mick began to speak, the youngster drilled his eyes into the aussie who was looking a lot less vicious and cold now. He looked almost like he'd given up on life, hopeless, beaten down…such a different expression and demeanor compared to the brute Dennis had encountered early that morning. This man almost reminded the kid of the Mick he used to know. He didn't like what he was hearing, though.

Mick had been lying. He'd hid a large part of himself from the kid. He'd assured him all would be fine, that they would one day leave teufort and have their own life, living in the van and seeing the world, knowing full well it could never be that way. He'd coaxed Dennis into a relationship with someone the kid could never spend his life with. It was inconsiderate, and Dennis couldn't just let it go that easily. He could, however, understand that Mick had been careful with showing his true emotions earlier that morning. It was dangerous with the Admins eyes and ears all around for sure, Mick was wise to be cautious. Dennis had just been – to say the least – worked up and too enraged to realize it, when he learned his partner was the team traitor and one meant to kill him if and when Dennis finally made a run for it.

Dennis' eyes widened somewhat and his creased brows relaxed a tad as he listened on, hearing the Australian…encourage him to go? In Dennis' mind their relationship had gone from close lovers to enemies in the snap of a finger that morning, enemies who were meant to kill one another. Mick was his executor, and now he was telling the kid to igo?/i So…his plan had never been to fulfill the admins wish and follow her demand, if she ever said Dennis had to die?

It didn't take a genius to figure out that anyone who opposed the mistress was in deep shit, she was especially cruel to those who worked closeby her and ended up becoming traitors. Mick knew this damn well too, and yet his voice didn't waver once when he expressed his clear refusal to kill Dennis, despite the consequences. He wanted the kid to go, to be safe and have his life, to not worry what happened to Mick once the admin got her hands on him and punished him for his treachery. Was it all an act to win Dennis over?

With examining, doubtful eyes the youngster observed the sniper who fell quiet, before slowly approaching him cautiously, and a little hesitantly. There was no trust for the man that lay before him, no sense of security and no assurance that he was and believed what he claimed. For All Dennis knew Mick could just be manipulating him again. The blonde stared down, standing right next to the aussie and hovering over him. He saw Mick slip his hand in his pocket to extract the keys to his van. After a short moment of silence Dennis bent down to pick the keys up. He put them in his pocket, and met Mick's gaze for the first time in a long while. Observantly the kid's emotionless gaze locked in the Australians amber eyes, that just looked hurt, pleading and worried. Those couldn't be fake emotions. No matter how much distrust Dennis felt for the man, he couldn't get himself to believe that that face was lying to him.

Reaching down, Dennis grabbed Mick's arm and pulled. Using all his strength the kid pryed the older off the ground and tried to get him up on his feet.  
"Get up. Come on." He muttered. There was no gentleness, no care, no worry. Just void of emotions, as they were held back with all of Dennis' might, so he wouldn't run the risk of being hurt again.  
Without saying much the kid aided Mick in walking back to the van. He didn't hold the guy in any kind of affectionate, careful hug to support him, but nor did he yank him around viciously. He just did what he had to do, to get the aussie to a safe warm and dry place before they both ended up with the damn flu.

Dennis remained quiet as he pushed the weak Australian into the van. There were little objections, and even if there were any Dennis wasn't listening. He sat Mick down, and quickly removed his ice-cold drenched shirt, uncovering the equally icecold and wet skin underneath. Mick was lucky if he didn't get sick.  
"Not a genius fucking idea lying out there" He muttered as he retrieved a blanket and threw it to the aussie, so he could dry himself off. After that the dirty wound had to be tended to.

"I'm pissed at you, you know." The kid broke the silence with a harsh statement.  
"You said you'd never hurt me. But you freaking did" Dennis said darkly as he pressed a ball of cotton drenched in cleaning alcohol against the wound, drawing a pained hiss out of the Australian.  
Of course Dennis was referring to all the lies, the way Mick had crushed the youngsters hopes and dreams and completely destroyed his trust for the aussie.

"Why should anybody trust you, you're the kinda guy who'll kill his best friend just 'cause some old hag told him so." Dennis spat, continuing to clean the injury. To him it didn't make sense. Why was he so special, so different? Why could Mick cheat and kill others so easily but just because it was Dennis he'd give his life and his all for the kid? Quite honestly Dennis thought the young engineer could've done a lot more with his life than Dennis ever would.

"You could just say screw her and come with me you know. But that never crossed your damn mind did it? You're never gonna leave this fucking place, are you? It was just something you told me to keep my hopes up. I was looking forward to it too, man, I mean- …uh forget it"

The injury was thoroughly cleaned, and the kid then replaced the soaked bandages with new, dry ones. He was considerably calmer and careful in his work as he wrapped the Australian up, but he still refused to act like they were partners. There was still ways to go, repairing their relationship. If there even was one to repair, Dennis wasn't sure it even was a point in having a relationship with someone he'd eventually be forced to part from. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be them two together, their relationship so far had been dysfunctional at best.

Pulling his hands through his hair Dennis stood up and paced a bit. He was still feeling emotionally sore from the whole ordeal, unsure what to do and what to take from this. Looking over at Mick, his eyes had lost the vicious coldness and the judging crease in his brow. Now, he just looked uncertain. Looking for an answer.

"Yo even If I DO leave, she's still gonna find me you know. She'll hunt me down like a dog, she'll get us both for this. I don't get why'd you wanna go through all that shit 'cause of me, you could just be done with it putting a bullet in my brain, not like anybody would miss me anyway. Guys would be happy I'm gone, wouldn't exactly be a loss to the world. And you wouldn't have a pain in the ass following you around either. You could have your little life being the Admin's pet doing what you do best, you'd rather just let me slip and take the fall for me?"

Dennis had his back turned and his arms crossed as he let Mick know how stupid he was for putting his own life and wellbeing on the line for Dennis the way he'd offered to do. There was a difficulty for Dennis to understand, but surprisingly easy for him to express his own feelings of inadequacy. Something he never ever would do normally, around other people. It just proved, that there still was a part of him that trusted the sniper and felt comfortable talking to him about, well, everything, without running the risk of being judged.

"I can't just leave. Not if you're gonna stay and take the fall for me. That aint was teamplayers do. We're in this shit together, whether we like it or not." The Young frecklefaced teen glanced over his shoulder at the older male. He still wasn't willing to get Close up and personal with him, still sore about the lies and their crushed future together, but Dennis knew he could never live with himself if Mick got in harms way, because of the kid.

Mick wasn't sure what hurt more, the harsh words of the Scout, or the alcohol drenched cotton ball being pushed into the wound on his side.  
Dennis was right, the bushman had effectively lied to him, given him something to look forward to which the older man iknew/i was never going to happen. It was a really shitty move on the Snipers part.  
But even so there was still a part of him that wanted to take the younger man away from all of this.

Mick groaned as the new bandages were wrapped around his side, the fabric tugging at his now clean injury. "You didn't have to do this...But thank you." the snipers voice was gentle as he thanked his friend, he guessed at the very most that was what they were now, ifriends/i.  
For a while the sniper just listened to what Dennis had to say, of course he was pissed off, he had been lied to and hurt by the one person he thought he could trust. It was completely justifiable. The kid was also right about leaving the place, even if he left right here and now the Administrator would hunt him down like it was a sport. The old hag now knew that Dennis wanted out, he stated clearly in front of the bases cameras that he was going to get out. That made him the next target.

"If i left with you, we'd be no better off than we are 'ere. They'll come after us until we're iboth/i dead."  
Mick idly rubbed the side of his battered face as he thought about what needed to be done. "She wants you dead, that i'm sure of. She'll want me to put you down which of course I ican't/i do..."  
The two men were silent for a time before Dennis made it clear that he wasn't going to leave Mick behind to take the fall for him. Noble, but he still needed to convince the Admin to let the bostonian stay in the base, alive and well.

The bushmans amber eyes glowed with concentration as he focused on an invisible spot in front of him, he knew what he had to do, it was risky and could very well result in one or both of them being killed...But it was better than nothing, and certainly better than pointing his own rifle at the one guy who he actually cared about.

Mick stood up, wincing as he did so and took a cautious step towards his companion, being very careful not to invade the youngsters already fragile space. "I think I know how to get you out of this. You won't be ifree/i...But you won't be on the bosses hit list any longer..."  
The bushman waited briefly for the Scout to say something but was only met with a suspicious raised eyebrow and silence, the older mans voice was gentle but was laced with desperation to protect his partner as he spoke, "l-look, Dennis, you don't have to trust me if you don't want to. Just...Just leave this to me. I'll make things right, I promise you."  
iPromise/i was a dangerous word for the sniper to use in his vocabulary at this moment in time, given that he had broken pretty much every promise he had told the Scout prior to now. But it was imperative that the bostonian put his trust in him one last time.

Mick stared at his partner for a few moments, his face pleading desperately to be given this one opportunity for redemption.  
He couldn't and wouldn't allow Dennis to die, by his hand or ianyone/i else's. He loved the kid, and whether Dennis believed it or not the Sniper was willing to sacrifice ieverything/i to save his hot headed companion. Tomorrow he would request a personal audience with the Administrator.

It seemed the men had got themselves in quite a pickle. Well, mostly it was Dennis' fault his name was now high on the admin's hit-list, it was his own doing that his execution was probably being planned to take place in the next few days. Perhaps calling the Admin names and yelling about how he swore he'd get out, in front of a bunch of fucking cameras, wasn't the brightest idea. But in Dennis' defense, he'd been blinded with rage and hurt, and he was still sore and unwilling to let Mick too close. The Bostonian was willing to believe that Mick did care for his safety, at least somewhat, and really what other option did the scout have? If he ditched Mick and ran off he'd be hunted down. If he stayed he'd be killed, if not by Mick then by somebody else. For some reason the Administrator saw Mick as above the rest, he was closer to her, more trustworthy and loyal. Maybe she would actually listen to something he had to say. I was Dennis' only shot.

Dennis arms remained wrapped around himself, a subconscious pose of tensity signaling he had his guard up, and was protecting himself. He'd tolerate no hugs or kisses or even a ruffle of his hair. Mick didn't deserve none of that, the guy was still a douchebag for lying, and setting the kid up for having his hopes and dreams crushed and his trust given a good old beating.

Looking a little skeptical as he gazed up at the much taller bushman, Dennis' clear blue eyes tried to search for assurance in his eyes, and it was probably obvious that the kid suffered internal frustration and debating, whether or not Mick could be trusted to take care of the problem. Again, the kid really didn't have much choice. He still hated to hear that word though, ipromise/i. He'd heard it before. With a sigh the kid looked down, before giving Mick a rather stern gaze.  
"We'll see. Work your magic, but be quick about it 'cause I'm pretty damn sure she wants me dead, and soon."

For a second Dennis' eyes flickered down to Mick's bared and bandaged chest. He wasn't dripping wet – well, not his torso anyway, his pants were still soaked and disgustingly muddy and his hair looked like that of a hobo – but his body had most likely suffered from the cold. He oughta put some clothes on.  
"And get re-dressed already, will you. You'll get sick walking around like that." Saying it more like a statement, rather than a worrying scolding, Dennis withdrew. He didn't feel the two had much to say to each other right then, even if the healing of their already battered relationship had begun. There really was nothing to lose here, whether or not Dennis remained in contact with Mick and chose to trust him, he was in danger. Only difference was, if he did allow himself to put his trust in Mick this last time, and stuck by him through the process, the youngster did have a chance of survival. He didn't like the sound of now being free, because to him being stuck in this place was just as bad as being dead. If not worse. But maybe there was hope to get out, in the future, somehow.

Until then, Dennis would wait and observe, and face whatever came for him. Should an assassin knock on their door the next day when Mick refused to answer the Admin's call, Dennis would fight teeth and claw for his life and go out a fighter. And, if Mick's plan – whatever it contained – worked, Dennis would be off the hit-list and alive and well. Until he went absolute bonkers and blew his brains out of course, which wasn't entirely unlikely if he had to stay in the base for much longer.

"I'm not staying here all my life you know." He stated, "One day, I'm leaving. And I'm gonna see the world before I die. I'd suggest you consider leaving too. Life here's gonna end up pretty damn lonely you know."

Mick couldn't help but breathe out a sigh of relief upon hearing the Scout agree to his plan. Fair enough, the kid hadn't the slightest notion of what the Sniper had in store come morning, but he was giving the bushman all he really wanted, ia chance/i. The bushmans eyes locked onto the shorter mans sky blue ones as he gave a very brief smile of thanks for giving Mick the chance to prove himself.

As Dennis' had ordered, the hunter was soon redressing himself into some clean pants and attempting to dry off his hair a little. It seemed that every time the bloody van was clean for once isomething/i happened that would cause it to mess up again. The floor of the camper was covered in muddy bootprints and speckles of blood. iHe'd have to get that cleaned up for when...if...Dennis came back over to stay with him/i.

It wasn't long before a small coughing fit had Mick sprawled out on his bed, the bushman smirked as he watched the Scouts unimpressed reaction. "Don't say a word. I laid in mud for hours. I have a cold. Its all my fault. I'm a itotal/i bloody idiot."  
The snipers smirk was soon to fade as he regained his composure, it was only then that he realised just how god damn exhausted he was and it was barely the afternoon. He'd also missed his first meeting with the new Soldier, though that really wasn't of much importance, the man would be living here after all. There was plenty of time to introduce himself. iHe hoped at least/i

With a tired groan Mick hoisted himself up and leaned on his good side, propping up his head in his hand as he addressed Dennis, this time his voice was much more stern, much more protective.  
"You know I won't let anythin' happen to you, right?...I mean it. Anyone hurts you and they're dead...You deserve better than that."

The sniper paused briefly, sincerity plastered across his face as he studied his companions expression, the kid was guarding himself well, and for good reason, though this made him hard to judge. It was like trying to read a book who's pages were blank. "And for the record...I ido/i wanna show ya the world...Its just...iHard/i...Hard to explain, hard to imagine getting out of here. I know you don't want to stay here forever. You're still young, I don't exactly have many prospects out there now, do i? Whats an assassin if theres no one to assassinate...Honestly I-I can't imagine having any other job..." A small smile briefly passed the Snipers lips as he made eye contact with the Scout once again, "but then again, the worlds a pretty big place. I'm sure i'd find isomething/i to do...I guess we'll have to see, eh?"

Mick had felt like he'd been awake forever yet it had barely gone 3pm. He needed more time to choose his words for when he met with the Administrator along with time to rest his body.  
Reluctantly the Sniper ended his conversation with the youngster, opting for a warm but detached "you'd best get off." By the looks of it Dennis was ready to leave the van without any prompting anyway, Mick dragged himself up off of the bed and opened the door to the camper van, the rain was still heavy, no doubt it would stay this way for a few days now.  
The bushman smiled sheepishly, making sure to avoid any bodily contact with the younger man until he was ready to do so himself. And who knows when that next time would be. Without dragging it out any longer Mick cleared his throat and stepped away from the door, giving his partner room to exit the van and making sure the youngster heard him as he left,  
"You know where to find me if you need me. I'll see you round, kid."

It was hard for the kid to relax properly. While he was a lot calmer and not blinded by fury or sorrow, he was still tense and every warning signal inside of him kept going off constantly. For the youngster, who already from the start had attachment- and trust issues, even one lie, one move of deceit, could send him right back into his hardened shell. Kind of like poking a snail with a stick and watching it retreat into it's shell with such haste, after a painstakingly slow emerge from it's comfortable home. But for Dennis, it was difficult to find a safe spot now. The van wasn't a terrible place, he just found the previously pleasant memories he had of the vehicle to be bothersome at the moment, and hurtful. And there was still that nagging threatening doubt, that Mick was just lying and really plotting the kid's death.

Although Dennis' instincts told him to draw himself back from the world and hide in a corner somewhere where nobody could see, hear or reach him while he tried to get the tangle of emotions inside sorted, the Scout chose to stay for a bit. His eyes didn't stick on Mick too long, he had no interest in seeing the bushman re-dress and instead had an uninterested look around in the small van. That was, until Mick started having his cough-attack.

Turning around Dennis gave the sniper a glare, but before he could even open his mouth, Mick filled in the words he knew the kid would throw at him. It made the Scout raise a brow, almost looking a tad impressed. After all, realizing one's own faults was the first step to recovery.  
"I think you're finally getting it, Snipes."  
It was hard to see, but if one looked closely a microscopically small smile tugged at the corners of the youngster's mouth. He still found an odd warmth in Mick's smiling face, in his gentle expression of sincerity. Understand, the last thing Dennis wanted was to think that someone he'd considered his best friend, his rock if you will, was secretly out to get him and had only been using and manipulating him up until this point. But, the Bostonian was not one to put trust in anyone, generally, and Mick should know that well by know. The youngsters fear of getting hurt shielded him off from people to the point where he seemed both pissed off at everyone, and just all around anti-social.

For the most part Dennis' face had been a mask of suspicion and his lowered brows giving him a constant look of sternness. A common tactic, to keep people from coming close, but as Mick began to speak again Dennis' blue eyes and the coldness they held faltered, if only a little.  
i"You deserve better than that"/i  
Did he? Why, what made him better than anybody else? He didn't see himself as a particularly productive part of society, all he did was kill people and rake in the money. Sure he was probably doing mother earth a favor by helping with decreasing the human population, but other than that the kid hadn't done much in his life that should be admired, or praised. He'd been a wild kid, raising hell and making life hell for just about everyone around him. How did he deserve life any more than that engineer did, really? The only thing Mick's flawed statement proved, was that he cared for the youngster. God knows why, but he did, and he valued Dennis' life. It was a…pleasant feeling, to know that he'd be missed by someone when he died.

Looking down, arms still wrapped around himself, Dennis continued to listen and – for once – didn't interrupt or speak up, even when given the chance. He let Mick explain himself, and by the end of the speech the youngster felt a sort of warm feeling in his chest. His defensive system tried to push it away, but to no avail. There still appeared to be some cracks in the teens' protective structure, where Mick's honeyed words could slip through.

"I thought you'd lied to me. About everything." The youngster finally spoke up, breaking the silence with his own explanation, of sort. Now that he was calm enough to think clearly, he could understand why Mick hadn't even considered just taking the van and the kid and breaking out of the base. They wouldn't get far.  
"When I saw you out there and realized what you are – who you are -, I knew I'd been royally screwed. I thought that…you'd known for a freaking long time I wanna get out of this shithole and you'd just been keeping your poker face on waiting for the day the Admin gives you the order to off me. I felt like…you'd just been toying with me."  
It was uncomfortable to talk about it, but the blonde figured he might as well try and explain himself too, and make Mick realize why he was so terribly scorn.  
"I thought you didn't give two shits about me like everyone else. Like you'd just been fucking me and feeding me lies while plotting the right time to put a damn bullet in my head."

Dennis sighed in frustration. He didn't like to show he was hurt, and disappointed, and affected by it. He didn't like this, someone else having the power over his emotions , able to make him feel bad and put him in a bad mood so easily. The kid was, however, glad the two had this…'talk'. He realized the show Mick had been forced to put on for the cameras, and he understood the danger for the both of them if the Admin was defied or god forbid realized the two had an affair going. Perhaps Mick could be trusted, everything was pointing to it, and honestly Dennis couldn't even convince himself that Mick's genuine expressions of affection in the past, had all been fake. They couldn't have been. He cared for Dennis, genuinely cared for him. It didn't make sense, but that was the way it was. Just like Dennis still cared for the aussie too.

"Yeah, I better go…" The teen was quickly by the door, eager to get out although he didn't quite know where to go. Honestly he felt exhausted too, he needed rest both for his mind and body's sake. It wasn't good for it, being this tense constantly, and it was extremely draining with this emotional storm going on inside.  
"I'll…seeya later then…and-…uh.." Looking up at the sniper just as Dennis was about to take a step outside, the youngster almost let an apology slip past his lips as he pointed to the bushman's bruised face. But, the word 'Sorry' got stuck somewhere far down Dennis' throat.  
"…you might wanna put some ice on that."

Quickly pulling the hood of his jacket up to shield him from the rain, the youngster was soon off like a speeding bullet, running through the rain towards some dry place. He had nowhere to go, really, nowhere that gave him peace. So, once Dennis entered the base he just roamed around, avoiding all human contact as much as he could. He did greet the Soldier. Well, by greet I mean he stood several meters away, caught eye-contact for a second and gave the new mercenary a short nod, just to acknowledge he was there, before the kid proceeded to walk through the corridors. He wondered what Mick's plan was. The Administrator wasn't exactly a gentle woman, she was ruthless and it would surely take a lot for her to spare the life of a bothersome little pest like Dennis. What did Mick have planned?

Eventually, Dennis ended up in the showering area. The place that gave him the least bad memories. When he was there, he remembered the day he got his burn. But, this was also the day Mick had sat him down on the end of the tub, and expressed that he thought the teen was beautiful despite the glowing red blisters covering his entire side. Subconsciously Dennis' hand squeezed his shirt right where his scar was, as he silently walked on the while tile floor over to the tub.  
By then it was evening. Not quite night, and most of the mercenaries were probably having supper. But Dennis wasn't hungry. He put a hand on the cold, but smooth surface of the white porcelain bathtub, and within a few minutes he was lying in it. It wasn't entirely comfortable, but this was as peaceful of a sleeping place he could find for the moment. The room was quiet, peaceful. The dim lights that were never turned off didn't bother him, quite the contrary. This would be his first night alone for a while, no soothing heartbeat to lull him to sleep and no assuring embrace shielding him from danger. Honestly, the kid preferred it not to be dark.


End file.
